


Truth be Told

by Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe (DH AU) D version [37]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brotherhood, Coming of Age, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Gift Fic, Spanking, Yule
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:15:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil could have gone home at any time. All he would have had to do, was tell the truth: that he wanted to come home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AfricanDaisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfricanDaisy/gifts).



> AfricanDaisy's Request: 
> 
> I would like: A story where the main characters are Oropher and Thranduil, the latter as a young adult or nearing the end of his teenage years, in Greenwood. I would like the story to include an argument at or around Yule that results in Thranduil running away. I would also like to see the words "I want to come home", and a happy ending. (Emma)
> 
> A/N 1: Thranduil is approximately 160 years old in this story, with elves reaching their majority at around 50 years. Thranduil has been a soldier and a member of Oropher's army for approximately sixty years, after several decades of training. 
> 
> A/N 2: Anything recognizable of course belongs to Tolkien. Most of the elven OCs whom I am writing about in this story belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. The elves from the Meordanas settlement were made up by me for this story, and the OC Theli, who is mentioned only briefly, is also one of mine. Eldun is actually Elrond's uncle Elurin, but the idea of him surviving the fall of Doriath and hiding amongst the Nandor as the Witch of the Northern Woods is just in my AU.

[Approximately year 1840 Second Age, about a month before Yule, outside Meordanas , an elven settlement in the far north of the Greewood, by the Grey Mountains. A dozen or so soldiers are digging ditches on either side of a road leading southward from the settlement.] 

'How,' Thranduil Oropherion acerbically wondered, 'could the southward road POSSIBLY need ditches this wide and deep?' The young soldier knew that his Sergeant would not be particularly interested in that line of inquiry, which was a pity since digging into the earth of the far northern wood during even the early winter was rather like chipping blood out of stone. As his hands began to blister and freeze at the same time under his thick wool-lined gloves, Thranduil finally admitted, at least to himself, that 'running away' by accepting a military posting as far as physically possible away from the palace had quite possibly not been his best idea ever. 

Flashback

The previous year (approximately S.A. 1839), King's Palace at Amon Lanc, less than a month prior to the previous Yule

"What were you thinking, Prince Thranduil?" His father Oropher demanded stonily, every inch the Aran. All of his father's usual fondness for Thranduil was carefully hidden behind the King's stern mask. 

Some sort of answer seemed to be required, even though Oropher wasn't really listening. "I don't know, Aran-nin." Thranduil managed, keeping his tone neutral. Thranduil didn't even try to keep the resentment out of his demeanor, though. Inside his tunic pocket was a letter from his mother, explaining that the circumstances behind their young cousin Amroth's injury in a duel in Lothlorien had largely been the fault of Amroth rather than Thranduil, and that Thranduil had in fact been trying to defuse the situation and protect his slightly older cousin. 

But Oropher hadn't asked what happened. He'd just begun upbraiding Thranduil for putting an ally's son and kinsman at risk, thus causing a diplomatic incident between their two kingdoms and a potential political disaster for their cousin Aran Amdir. So Thranduil felt no need to offer either the letter or a real explanation. If his father didn't know him well enough to see that Thranduil wouldn't have gotten into trouble like this while he was in Lothlorien to support Felith, than Thranduil shouldn't have to tell him. Not Oropher-the-King, and not Oropher-the-father. Especially not when Thranduil KNEW that his father knew how much Thranduil HATED having to answer to Oropher-the-King. As soon as his father had started this interview as the Aran, Thranduil had pretty much decided not to help him. 

Thranduil's answer apparently did not please the King. 'Well, good.' Thranduil thought angrily. His father's temper fed his own, and kept at bay the tears of hurt and betrayal at being so misunderstood by his beloved parent. 

"You DON'T KNOW?" Oropher asked, voice cold with fury. 

Thranduil shrugged carelessly. "It must have seemed like a good idea at the time, Aran-nin. Lord Canarmo is SUCH a bloody idiot after all, and SOMEONE needed to teach him a lesson." Which was all true, but it had been Amroth who'd thought that challenging the idiot to a duel had been a good idea. Thranduil had nothing to prove to Canarmo, and he'd been able to largely ignore the elegant bully's slights and taunts. If cousin Amroth's father, Aran Amdir of Lothlorien, weren't so determined to coddle Amroth as if he were a baby instead of a capable young ellon, then the whole disaster might never have happened. But Thranduil didn't say so aloud, and Oropher was incensed enough to take Thranduil's apparent distraction at face value. 

"If you have anything further to say for yourself, Prince Thranduil, I am listening." Oropher-the-King offered.

Thranduil tilted his chin up. "I have nothing to say, Aran-nin." He did move his hand to briefly pat his tunic pocket. Feeling the reality of Felith's letter tucked against his heart steadied Thranduil. His MOTHER, at least, had known not to jump to conclusions. Even LADY GALADRIEL had been more fair to Thranduil than Oropher was being right now. Granted, Galadriel's saying that Thranduil had been "fate’s instrument to bring Amroth into the freedom to be himself,” hadn't seemed particularly helpful at the time, but Thanduil hadn't expected much of Galadriel. He'd expected more of Oropher. Thranduil had to look away and take a deep breath to shunt his hurt and disappointment aside. 

Oropher must have seen that. He must have, because he paused for a fraction of a second. Thranduil didn't look up to see if his father had softened. He knew that Oropher wouldn't let himself, not if he were playing the King. At least not for more than a moment, and not unless Thranduil was terribly upset. And Thranduil wasn't upset. He was offended, even outraged, by the fact that Oropher had leapt to conclusions, and on top of that crestfallen that he couldn't just talk to his father about how upsetting it had been to have accidentally gotten right into the middle of a fierce and long-running argument between their cousins Amroth and his father Amdir. 

'No," Thranduil thought bitterly to himself, 'Ada has to play the Aran, instead.' 

Oropher sighed. "Come here, Prince Thranduil." He ordered. 

Somewhat to Thranduil's surprise, Oropher walked over to the settee instead of motioning for Thranduil to take up a position over the King's desk. The Prince was startled enough to pause for a moment, until his Adar's raised eyebrow got him moving again. Normally, Thranduil would have mixed feelings about getting his bottom warmed up by his father's hand before the paddle which laid upon Oropher's desk like a doom made its appearance, but today Thranduil was feeling so resentful that he didn't want any mercy from Oropher. He didn't want to be held on his father's lap while he took the first part of his punishment. If Oropher was going to insist on being the Aran instead of Thranduil's father, he could at least do Thranduil the decency of paddling Thranduil over his desk like any other young ellon who had nearly caused a diplomatic disaster, and thereby giving Thranduil the opportunity to properly resent him for it. It just wasn't fair. 

Despite his resentment, Thranduil didn't hesitate to lay himself over his father's lap. He lifted his hips obediently for Oropher to pull down his leggings, and did his best to keep still as his father's first powerful swats addressed his vulnerable bottom. Thranduil's father wasn't going easy on him, but neither did the spanking last particularly long. It didn't have to, not with the paddle waiting. Just as Thranduil's eyes began to sting with tears, Oropher's warm hand stilled against his son's burning bottom. 

"I am very disappointed in your behavior, Prince Thranduil. I would have expected better of my heir's actions whilst biding in Lothlorien." Oropher said quietly. 

Thranduil heaved a ragged sigh, doing his best to bite back tears. He hated disappointing his father above almost all things. Almost worse was not feeling as if he could confide in Oropher. Thranduil knew that some ellyn resented their fathers - and he might feel sore at Oropher right now. Literally as well as figuratively, but Thranduil loved his father. He respected him above all elves, and that was why it hurt so much right now, inside as well as outside. A single tear slipped from Thranduil's lashes as he began to push himself to his feet, only to be pushed back down into place over Oropher's lap, the Aran's other hand warm and reassuring on Thranduil's lower back. 

The paddle had somehow gotten from Oropher's desk to Oropher's hand without Thranduil noticing. The Prince stiffened as he felt the cool wood rest on his well-warmed bottom. 

"Almost done, ion-nin." Oropher murmured kindly. 

Thranduil took another ragged breath. He'd rather be over the desk, but that was obviously not his father's intention. He reached out to grab the pillow from the end of the settee, and buried his face in it just as he heard the distinctive 'crack' sound of the wooden paddle impacting against his bare bottom. A heart beat later, pain blossomed like a fire on his right rear cheek. The breath-taking sensation was quickly replicated on his left cheek, and then Oropher proceeded to thoroughly paddle his son's backside. Thranduil clutched the pillow, sobbing silently. As the paddling continued, his shoulders began to shake. His father left just enough time in between swats for the pain kindled by each smack to be felt in full. Before long, Thranduil felt like his bottom was being held over a fire. That sensation grew worse as Oropher applied a flurry of swifter, harder whacks with the paddle, focusing on Thranduil's tender sit spots. The Prince gasped and threw his head up, involuntarily arching his back, and then it was done. 

Thranduil gasped tearily as Oropher rubbed his lower back, murmuring soft words of praise and reassurance. Thranduil didn't want them, right now. Or he did, and he desperately wanted his father, but his temper was still too...inflamed, as were other parts of him, to be able to accept that comfort. So Thranduil pushed himself up as soon as he could, angrily wiping away traitorous tears. He fixed his clothing precisely, repressing with great effort another gasp of pain as his leggings came into contact with his throbbing bottom. 

Oropher, too, had stood up. "Thranduil...." His father began, exasperated and fond. 

"May I be dismissed, Aran-nin?" Thranduil interrupted stonily. 

Oropher sighed, "Thranduil...." 

"I am tired from my journey. I would like to rest." 

Oropher took a deep breath of his own, and then nodded faintly. "Very well, ion-nin." He reached out to grasp Thranduil's shoulder. 

Thranduil stepped away. "Shall I report to you again tomorrow?" An offense 'serious' enough for Oropher to deal with Thranduil as King rather than father almost invariably meant a second, later, milder spanking from Oropher as Adar. 

Oropher didn't flinch, but Thranduil could tell that he'd hurt his father. He was surprised by how badly he felt about that, despite how irate he was with Oropher. The King took another deep breath, before replying, "This matter is not closed, ion-nin, but I will come to you. And not tomorrow, but the following evening." 

Thanduil nodded coolly in acknowledgement. Then he bowed to his father, and headed for the door. 

"Thranduil." Oropher called him back. 

The Prince stopped, almost shuddering with anger and hurt, as well as in reaction to the firm punishment he'd just endured. He took a second to get himself back under control, then turned to face his father again. "Yes, Aran-nin?" 

"Stay within the palace grounds tonight, Thranduil." Oropher commanded. His intent green eyes met Thranduil's, and in the emerald fathoms Thranduil saw not just sympathy, but a depth of a love which shook him. He looked away, and left the room. His guard fell silently into step behind him. 

[Three Days Later, at Breakfast in the Royal Apartments] 

Thranduil had considered simply not joining his father for breakfast. The spanking he'd gotten from Oropher the previous night had left him a bit sore, and he was still a bit hurt. Normally after that second punishment from his father, all would have been made well between them. This time, Thranduil was still angry. It did not help that Oropher had not had the time, most days, to join Thranduil for breakfast, lunch or dinner, or in one of the impromptu training sessions which Thranduil would begin with his guards. 

Thranduil understood that his father was busy. Thranduil was more or less trying to stay out of Oropher's way. He didn't want to add to the heavy burdens upon his father, particularly not with Felith in Lothlorien, Vehiron on an ambassadorial trip to Lindon, and General Rochendil busy in the South with an outbreak of human raiders along the Vales of the Anduin. He was also still a bit out of sorts with his father, and he didn't want to talk to Oropher and risk troubling his father further with his temper. 

To Thranduil's surprise, Oropher was waiting for him at the breakfast table. The food in the chafing dishes included some of Thranduil's favorites, little trays of sharp cheeses, and dishes of fresh strawberries from the green houses. 

"Sit, ion-nin." Oropher asked with a tired, fond smile. "Eat with me, please." 

Thranduil sat, and began to eat. He had little choice; Oropher filled his plate for him. That sign of caring made Thranduil almost smile, even though he pretended to be irritated. 

They ate for awhile in peace and silence, simply enjoying one another's company without actively being at one another's throats. After the meal was mostly finished, Oropher addressed his son. 

"Thranduil, I will not apologize to you for having punished you. Your actions merited the consequences which it was my unhappy duty to mete out. But that punishment and those mistakes do not make you any less my beloved son. I will ALWAYS love you. And I am proud of you, for many reasons." 

Thranduil nodded stiffly, not quite ready to accept yet that the issue was closed with Oropher never having learned the truth of the matter, but more than ready to finish being at odds with his much-beloved father. 

Oropher reached out a gentle hand to tip up Thranduil's chin. "You are not in disgrace, ion-nin. General Rochendil's adjutant has told me that you wish to rejoin Captain Curulas' unit as soon as possible. Since they are several weeks away, he informed me that he has given you permission to attach yourself temporarily to another unit, should they have the need and you the inclination. I have no quarrel with that, ion-nin. But before your own duties once again reclaim your time, I should like to enjoy your company a little more. I would have you know how glad to have you home, despite the reason for your return. And I am sorry, that my duties have left me so few hours to spend with you, particularly given the circumstances." 

Thranduil considered that, for a moment. He knew that Oropher loved him. His father had made a mistake, but...well, everyone makes mistakes. Maybe it was time to let it go, and just enjoy being with Oropher for the next few weeks or so before Thranduil rejoined a regular patrol. Thranduil had missed Oropher dreadfully, after all. He normally loved to spend time with his father, and to have Oropher's attention all to himself. Which was, in part, why it had pained him so much that Oropher hadn't listened. But still - everyone makes mistakes, and Thranduil could have said something about what had really happened. He shouldn't have had to, but still, again, mistake. Just a mistake, and Thranduil realized that he didn't want to waste more time on it. Especially not when he could tell that Oropher was under a lot of pressure. 

"I...I was thinking to go riding, Ada. This afternoon." Thranduil offered. 

Oropher smiled, a wide, genuine, happy smile. "I think that I would like very much to join you, ion-nin." 

[Later that Same Day, in the Afternoon]

Thranduil waited at the stables for an hour. Oropher never showed up. 

"I'm sorry, Thranduil." Oropher's chief groom Rochirion said softly. "I am sure that he would not have broken your engagement without compelling reason." 

Thranduil nodded woodenly. He agreed. His father would not have done so, but that didn't change his feelings of disappointment. As much as Thranduil hated being dealt with by Oropher-the-King, he hated even more playing second-fiddle to the Greenwood when it came to his father's attention. At least when Oropher was playing the Aran with him, Thranduil knew that there was affection involved as well as duty, in that Oropher was just trying to really get through to him that whatever he'd done had been unacceptable. Just being forgotten, particularly after a week like this, was a different thing entirely and almost worse. 

Thranduil sighed, and patted his horse's soft neck. "Would you please ask Baranon or Feldor to exercise Galathil for me, Rochirion? I find that I am not feeling much like riding." 

Rochirion nodded sympathetically. "I'll take him myself. Perhaps you should seek out your father. I'm sure that he will want to see you, even if he only has time for a cup of tea." 

Perhaps Thranduil should, but he wasn't going to. If Oropher was too busy to remember that they were to go riding together, then Thranduil did not want to remind him. Oropher was under enough stress, and Thranduil didn't want to make him feel badly for the missed engagement. And he also didn't want to seem needy, like the small elfling he had once been, pleading for his royal father's attention. It would be best to wait to see Oropher at dinner or perhaps even breakfast, after Thranduil had had time to master his emotions. 

"I think that Ada must be busy, indeed. Probably Boronthor will indulge me for a bout. And if not, I could still stand to dust off my sword drills, after having been on leave for months." 

Rochirion raised a skeptical eyebrow, his eyes twinkling. "I rather doubt that you've gotten rusty, Thranduil-our-elfling. Not with how much time you've spent beating your guards 'round the couryard with your blade the past week." 

Thranduil hid a pleased blush. He took his career as a soldier very seriously, and it was particularly meaningful when a proven warrior such as Rochirion, even one who declined to wear warrior's braids, took the time to praise him. Thranduil waved off the complement with studiedly casual politeness, and parted company from the chief groom. 

As he walked back to his quarters to change, Thranduil came to a sudden realization. For the next several hours, everyone expected him to be out of the palace, riding with his father. His sapphire eyes began to shine as he contemplated the wonderful possibilities of that. Rochirion and some of his apprentices knew that Thranduil would not be out riding, but they would be out giving Galathil his promised exercise, probably to the north and west of the city, on the stallion's favored paths. That, and Rochirion expected Thranduil to be sparring with his guards, which all knew could happily occupy the Prince for hours. 

Thranduil's guards, on the other hand, thought him to be with Oropher, and Oropher's guards. But Oropher just drew his guards from whomever of the palace guards happened to be on duty that day, so no one's specific presence or absence would alert Thranduil's guards to where their charge wasn't. Well, except for Oropher's presence, but if Oropher had been busy enough to forget that he was to meet his son, he was probably closeted in his study or council room with Herdir and several of the elders. 

In short, Thranduil was at liberty. He grinned. His backside would end up paying the price if he disappeared for a few hours, but he found himself not minding that prospect too much. Thranduil did felt badly for the way his actions would affect Carthalon and Angtheldir, his bodyguards on duty for the day, but both Captain Boronthor and Oropher knew of Thranduil's tendency to evade his guards and have the occasional bit of time to himself. Carthalon and Angtheldir shouldn't get in too much trouble. And besides, Thranduil should have the right to be on his own sometimes. He hadn't asked for his guards, they had been inflicted upon him. He liked them, but he couldn't always sacrifice his own interests for theirs. 

Now, where to go to spend this unexpected free time? Thranduil tapped the hilt of the sword on his waist absently as he considered that, before deciding upon a seldom-used practice yard at the subsidiary military complex on the outskirts of the city of Amon Lanc. The Prince actually did feel like running sword drills, and he was unlikely to be recognized in the city if he went about without his guards and formal clothing. At least not right away, and at least not by anyone who would run to inform the palace. Getting caught eventually was an inevitability, even part of Thranduil's plan. Not that he'd ever say that aloud, but at least to himself he could admit that disappearing for a few hours was a time-tested, almost routine way to get his father's attention. Thranduil would get in trouble for it, yes, but he expected to, and Oropher would understand why his heir had been upset. It would put their relationship back on even footing, and besides, Thranduil just wanted to go off and do something alone. 

[Several Hours Later, Practice Yard in the City]

Sweat soaked through Thanduil's borrowed practice armor, all the way through his tunic and undershirt to his skin. He took little mind of it, save to tear a strip of fabric off of his tunic to keep the salty water out of his eyes while he continued to run drill after drill with a heavy practice blade. He'd hung his own slim sword over a peg on the wall when first he arrived, in favor of the large lead-plugged blade available at the practice yard. Training like this improved the endurance, made holding his own blade in a long engagement seem an easier task. Thranduil looked less graceful when he was lugging around such weight through demanding exercises, but he figured that if he could make even THIS look graceful, it would really help him with his regular bladework. 

Despite feeling as if he was off-balance and heavy-footed, Thranduil found himself being observed by any number of fellow soldiers on the practice ground. First, with bemusement, at a strange young soldier in their midst. Then, with anticipation of hilarity, when they saw him pick out their heaviest sword and sigh at the unaccustomed pull of it. Then, with dawning respect, for how well he managed going through the standard blade drills. By now, the respect had become flat-out admiration, as Thranduil made his way through some of the most complicated sword-drills taught to Greenwood's Army. 

On the one hand, Thranduil himself was rather satisfied with this work out. These were the most difficult training exercises he'd ever managed to complete with this stone block of a sword. On the other hand, why was Thranduil even still here? It had been the better part of six hours! Had anyone even noticed that he was missing? Thranduil bowed his head for a moment, breathing deeply. 'Perhaps,' he thought to himself, 'I have disappeared too well - perhaps the only other elves who know of this place are my gwedyr, who are all off on patrols or tasks of their own.' The loneliness of that, compounded with his father's recent disapproval and continuing neglect of Thranduil in favor of his duties, hit him very sharply for a moment. Thranduil had to swallow back tears. He comforted himself that any further moisture on his face would be mistaken for sweat. After a moment he returned to his drills, pressing himself further and further, ignoring the ache and burn in his tired muscles. It helped him to keep him from wandering whether his father even cared that his only son and heir was missing, or almost worse, whether Oropher had even noticed. 

Fortunately for Thranduil's peace of mind, a distraction introduced himself. 

"Time for a bout, Soldier? Or are you too good to spar with a man rather than the air?" Challenged a soldier whom Thranduil judged to be slightly older than himself, a taller elf with dirty-blond hair and light gray-green eyes. 

"I will spar." Thranduil answered, inclining his head slightly. The two saluted and then set to. Thranduil judged that the older young elf had the edge in actual combat experience and freshness, as well as a sword suited to his size. But Thranduil had always liked a challenge. Back and forth the two danced across the beaten earth ground of the practice yard, neither giving much ground for very long. The other fellow seemed to grow frustrated at that. He had very clean footwork, Thranduil noted, and a good level of skill for his apparent age. Thranduil, however, had been trained by his father and Greenwood's General, not to mention any number of other famous warriors, since he was first old and mature enough to hold a sword. He'd faced much more skilled opponents than this youth, and he concentrated on his own footing and strikes despite his exhaustion. Sooner or later, there would be an opening. Thranduil was not a patient elf, but he had patience for this. 

"Hold!" Called an authoritative voice. All around them, other practice bouts paused. Thranduil and his opponent broke away from one another, both breathless. Thranduil nodded respectfully. His opposite returned the gesture, but with poorly-hidden resentment. Thranduil sighed silently, wondering what he'd done to make this elf dislike him. 

"I thank you for your attention." Interrupted a stocky, older ellon, the very same who had stopped all of the activity in the practice grounds. His posture was one of courteous respect, which might have distracted many from noticing how keenly his brandy-colored eyes took them all in. Thranduil didn't miss it, though. This was an observant elf, and from his large unstrung bow and great sword, also a strong and dangerous one. 

"I am Forothon." The ellon began. His lips twisted into an ironic smile. "Captain Forothon, rather. Your General Rochendil has left word that I might recruit any of you who have open orders into a new unit. It will be based out of my home village, Meordanas. We live at the furthest northern edge of the Wood, hard up against the Grey Mountains." 

The soldiers scattered around the practice yard listened with polite interest. Few of them had any interest in taking up service involving a change of residence, let alone one so distant from Amon Lanc. Oropher's patrols did range so far north as the edge of the Gray Mountains, Thranduil knew that from listening in on his father's conversations, and from sessions with his tutors. 

When no one immediately replied, Captain Forothon continued, "The increase in trade and travel has overextended the current standing militia at Meordanas." 

Thranduil winced at that, as did several of the other soldiers. Greenwood's army proper was not that old, relatively speaking, but they were full-time professional soldiers. They'd all had some experience working with the part-time, volunteer militia elves at different settlements, and none of them had particularly enjoyed it. Some of the individual volunteers were extremely capable warriors, but most were not army-ready, nor accustomed to fighting in a group. 

The Captain took a deep breath. "If my...command, is not reinforced, we will not have sufficient numbers to properly guard Meordanas and the smaller of the northern-most settlements. Nor will we be equal to our historic task of performing search and rescue operations in the wood and the mountains during the weeks when the cold is most fierce and the snows the heaviest." 

Several of the soldiers began to exchange glances or even talk quietly amongst themselves, at that last. Even Thranduil was moved, as was his recent sparring opponent. Whenever Thranduil went home to the palace - which he might end up doing of his own accord, and wouldn't that be a thing - he would have to bring the plight of this elf and his village to his father's attention. 

"I will offer a bonus of thirty golds out of my own pocket, to any soldier who pledges a year of service." The northern Captain offered softly. 

At that last, a dozen or so elves moved forward to speak with the elf. The slightly older ellon beside Thranduil glanced at him, and snorted. "I'll bet that you're too good for it, you with your fine tunic and fancy knives." 

Thranduil ignored him. It was not easy. Instead he glanced to the open windows, where he saw the sun starting to dip down under the tops of the dark trees. A breeze blew in through the windows, sharp with the scent of coming snow. It was early for it, so far south. It was less than five weeks before Yule, and normally the snows did not fall in earnest upon the city of the bare white hill until just after the Yuletide itself. The Prince belatedly remembered his father and several of the elders speaking of how an unusually long, cold, hard winter had been predicted. 

Just as Thranduil turned away from the windows, ready to pack up his belongings and head back towards the palace himself, he found his blue eyes caught by the brown eyes of the northern Captain. Gold sparks whirled in the irises of the strange ellon, and for a moment Thranduil saw the elder elf's intense worry. Faces of elves flew past his mind's eye, faces and then darker, deeper woods, even their own tremendous height dwarfed by the great, gray cliffs they approached. Wolves snarled from white snows, their light paws enabling them to sink not much further than an elf. Worst of all, an elleth lay dead at the base of a cliff, a human child clasped in her arms. The snow had fallen so lightly upon them in the lee of the cliff that it appeared as if they were only sleeping. 

The Captain tore his gaze away grimly. Thranduil stood shock-still for a moment. He was sure that the other elf hadn't intended for him to see all of that. He wasn't even sure if Forothon knew that Thranduil had seen any of it. The Prince's maternal grandmother had been a seeress. Thranduil hadn't inherited much of that, but sometimes, he caught flashes. Most often if the elf whose eyes he met was feeling intense emotion. Without even realizing it, Thranduil found himself lining up behind his sparring partner. 

"It is a month's journey to Meordanas, in fair weather and at best pace." Forothon explained with soft candor to his possible volunteers. "Once the snows lie deep, as they often due by Yuletide, the journey becomes longer, and treacherous in parts. It is not a duty for those of you with young family," His eyes flickered to Thranduil and the young, sullen elf with whom Thranduil had been sparring, "Nor is it a posting for those of you too young to rightly leave your father's house." 

The sullen elf raised his chin stubbornly. "I am Laingened Helethirion. I am at liberty to assign myself to a new patrol." 

Captain Forothon's eyes weighed the young ellon. "And your Adar, Helethir, young Laingened? What will he say of your traveling so far from home?" 

Laingened's eyes hardened, but Thranduil saw pain instead of hatred. "My father will not care, Captain sir." 

Forothon sighed. "Very well, then. Sign here. We leave within the hour. We will travel this first night, as a violent storm is predicted for tomorrow afternoon. We will rest then." 

The Captain's light brown eyes moved to Thranduil. So did the eyes of the older soldiers, and Laingened's own derisive gaze. 

Thranduil didn't know what he was doing. If his father or his friends or his any member of his family had been there, they would have stopped him. They probably could have stopped him, with only a look or a word. Even his guards could have. But Thranduil was on his own. 

"I will go." He told the northern Captain. "My family will miss me." At least Thranduil hoped that they would. Miss him or want to kill him, and probably both. "But duty to the wood which is our adopted home is something which they, too, hold dear. They will understand." And they probably would, if Thranduil wasn't the prince, the heir, the baby of their family. None of which should matter, and that made Thranduil straighten his shoulders, and strengthen his resolve. 

Captain Forothon regarded him levelly, although Thranduil could detect curiosity, doubt, and respect, all whirling in the cognac depths of the elder elf's eyes. 

"Very well." The Captain accepted, "What is your name, Soldier?" 

Thranduil gave his name. Rather he gave partly his own name, Thranduil, but followed by a different patronymic. It had been decided long ago, when Thranduil first enrolled for military training, that he would not bear Oropher's name while in military uniform. Doing so would have made him a target, and also anyone who served with him. So Thranduil had chosen a different name, and meant it to give honor to an elf who had earned his respect and gratitude. The Prince meant to do that name great honor. 

The northern Captain accepted the name and Thranduil's open orders, and the group split. Thranduil had to race back to the palace, using secret ways in that he hadn't meant to test yet. He climbed through a vacant guest room, sidled over and up using widow ledges, and then climbed up a rose trellis to a small shaded balcony. From there he climbed through the window of his cousin Aiwen's bedchamber, catching a flying hairbush just before it impacted with his temple. 

"Have a care, 'Wen! It's just me." He scolded. 

His cousin tossed her pretty blond girls and rolled her blue eyes. "Of course it is. What are you up to now, Thranduil?' 

He declined to answer. "What are you doing here, Aiwen?" He said instead, "You weren't supposed to be back here, yet. I thought that you were still visiting Thoroniel." 

She crossed her arms in a huff at first, then smiled as his own expression turned conciliatory. 

"If you must know," She said, tossing him an apple from a bowl on the table, "I came home early because I heard that you were back, and I didn't want you to be lonely here, what with my twin and all your other shadows away." 

Thranduil's jaw dropped for a moment, a rare show of surprised pleasure. "Wow. That's....that's really good of you, 'Wen. I'm glad, I wish that I hadn't just...er...."

She put a pale hand up to her forehead, and rubbed it over her eyes as if she might be getting a headache. "Er, what, Thranduil? What have you done?" 

"Nothing!" Thranduil snapped back. It wasn't Aiwen's place to worry over him as if she were his mother or something. She wasn't even a coronar older than he. "Well," he amended, "Nothing that's actually against any rules. Its a soldier thing, something that any soldier could do. If I'm not allowed to, then its because I'm the heir, and that just wouldn't be right, 'Wen." 

His cousin softened, twitching her rose colored riding robes aside so that she could sit down on a dressing stool. "Do you swear to me that it is not dangerous? Or at least, not more dangerous than any other soldier OF YOUR AGE AND EXPERIENCE would be permitted to take on?" 

"I swear it." Thranduil promised intently. 

Aiwen nodded decisively. "Allright, then." She said with a small, mischievous smile, "What can I do to help?" 

Thranduil's jaw dropped. Aiwen flat-out grinned at having managed to shock him twice in one day. 

"You are absolutely, without a doubt, the best elleth I know." He told her admiringly. 

She fluffed her pale blond hair. "I know. Now, what can I do, and how much trouble am I going to get in for doing it?" 

"I'm not sure. And lots." Thranduil answered. 

It took them less than fifteen minutes to get from Aiwen's room to the empty rooms of her mother, Lady Emlineth. Aiwen held the rope while Thranduil climbed down and through his own bedroom window. There was a guard on the ground BENEATH Thranduil's window. There always was. But no one had yet expected him to climb up. He didn't like giving the secret away, even to Aiwen, but he had to if he needed her help. He also needed to let her lend him a rope and aid him on the other end of it. Thranduil usually free-climbed this part. Aiwen made him promise not to ever again, and he had no choice but to make her that promise, clever, annoying little minx that she was. Fortunately for him, Aiwen even agreed to fetch Galithil from the stables, and meet him a clearing outside the palace. 

Thranduil put on his uniform cloak, checking the heft of his backpack and saddle bags. 

"Here." Said Aiwen, leading the curious Galithil. "They still aren't looking for you, yet. Your Ada is still closeted with mine and Herdir, and your guards still believe you out riding with Uncle Oropher." At his accusatory glare, she quickly explained, "I asked them, said that I was looking for you. I needed to check, Thranduil. If I'd been caught at the stable because they were using Galithil as bait to find you, it would have done neither of us any good. I'll get in trouble for you since its important and you asked nicely, but I am NOT going to get in trouble for nothing, not if I can help it." 

Thranduil nodded, accepting that. Aiwen reached up, and surprised him by pinning his cloak shut with a new cloak pin, one which Thranduil had never seen before. It was silver, in the shape of a stylized oak leaf. But where mere faint green lines would bisect and divide a normal oak leaf, this one featured a line of intertwined strands of blue bell blossoms. Down the center of the leaf ran a wolf etched into the surface, and above him flew two blue jays. 

"It's from Fileg, and from me." Aiwen told him softly. "So that you remember that even when we are far away from you, we will always be with you." 

Thranduil embraced her tightly. Through a swirl of snow flakes, he mounted Galithil and rode away. Thranduil would be gone for a year and a day, and Aiwen's oak leaf brooch would save his life once, 'ere they met again.


	2. Chapter 2

[Approximately year 1840 Second Age, about two months before Yule, outside a settlement in the far north of the Greewood, by the Grey Mountains. A dozen or so soldiers are digging ditches on either side of a road leading southward from the settlement.] 

A loud, familiar yell brought Thranduil back to the present. The cold, painful present. He was pretty sure that his hands were bleeding. Either that, or frost-bitten. 'Stupid ditches. Stupid shovels.' Thranduil grumbled silently to himself. 

"Put your backs into it, you lazy sons of orcs!" 

'Stupid Sergeant Renham.' Thranduil irreverently added to his silent litany. 

Sergeant Renham gave Thranduil a hard look, as if he suspected what the young soldier was thinking. But Thranduil kept his gaze down, and his part of the ditch was fairly deep. He was digging beside Tarador, one of the militia elves who spent most of his time as an apprentice blacksmith. Thranduil had never felt that he could feel competitive about an activity that was essentially making a hole for snow to be shoveled into, but he was determined to keep up with this phenomenally strong elf who wasn't even a professional soldier. If Tarador even noticed that they were competing, he didn't let on. Either way, their ditch was 'winning' the competition of deepest hole in the ground. 

Thranduil's on-and-off adversary, Laingened, on the other hand, was digging beside the entire garrison's youngest soldier, Thranduil Colfinnion. So that no one confused him and Thranduil, the younger Thranduil went by the nickname of Finn. Finn was not particularly strong, as soldiers went. He was an excellent archer, but an indifferent ditch digger. Also, when Renham roared at him, Finn would sometimes break down and cry.

Thranduil, on the other hand, wasn't too much upset by Renham's yelling-like-a-tyrant style of leading and training elves. Renham was a jerk to everybody, not just Thranduil. And it was rather novel for Thranduil to be disliked just for himself, rather than as the Prince or because he was perceived to get special favor for being the prince, or whatever other royalty-related reason most came up with. Thranduil was strangely fond of both Renham and Laingened, for that fact. It seemed to confuse them that Thranduil had such a tolerant fondness for their insults, and Thranduil took some pleasure in that confusion, too.

If Sergeant Renham did seem to dislike Thranduil more than any of his other soldiers, Thranduil was pretty sure that it was merely because Renham thought that Thranduil sometimes acted like a smart-mouthed, arrogant, insubordinate jerk. Thranduil was at least a little aware that he could sometimes be all of those things. In fact, when Thranduil thought that he was right about something important, Thranduil had practically raised insubordination to an art form. But that didn't give Sergeant Renham the excuse to go about training his elves by calling them terrible names and impugning their abilities and intelligence, let alone beating them into the ground with his sword (well, the other soldiers; Renham couldn't quite manage that with Thranduil, which seemed to simultaneously annoy Renham and please him). In any case, it didn't seem to make much of a difference in how Renham treated Thranduil. The Prince had come to realize that Renham was pretty much equally awful to all of his soldiers. 

At first, Thranduil had hated Renham. He'd spent about a month of last winter hoping that a wolf might eat the Sergeant, or something equally awful. Thranduil and Sergeant Renham had admittedly gotten off to a bad start. Thranduil had been terribly homesick, on and off, during the first few months he spent in Meordanas. Thranduil wouldn't admit it to anyone, now or then, but he still was homesick sometimes. It seemed to come and go, and he didn't quite understand why. But in Thranduil's first days in the north, when Renham had Thranduil and Laingened and Finn and all of the other transferred soldiers training together, Thranduil had been in a particularly poor mood, and so had Renham. To counter his feelings of displacement and longing for his parents and family friends, Thranduil had been practicing late into the night, pushing himself very hard. So he'd occasionally slept late, and even when he arrived on time to the morning practices which Sergeant Renham supervised, he'd been tired. Even exhauasted, Thranduil had been better than most of the other soldiers, when it came to bladework. His archery had actually been sub-par for this far northern posting, which had been an appalling discovery that Thranduil had immediately set himself to remedying, which had kept him up later, which made him more tired and testy. Thranduil and Renham had clashed often enough that Thranduil was pretty sure he'd memorized every step of the lap around the town and forest that Renham made them run. He'd also gotten a switching, but worse, sometimes Renham ordered all of the soldiers practicing that morning to run laps along with Thranduil, which didn't make Thranduil popular. 

Matters had come to a head between them the third week of Thranduil's residence in Meordanas. He'd arrived at practice - on time, no less - only to hear Renham say that they were breaking into two groups to have a mock battle, but that Thranduil was not to be allowed a weapon. Instead, he had to help everyone else work on their swordplay. At the time, Thranduil had thought that Renham was trying to get him killed. Finn and even Laingened had advised Thranduil to just leave and go to the Captain, but Thranduil had stubbornly refused. It turned out that Renham had been trying to force Thranduil to help him TEACH his fellow soldiers. Thranduil didn't like teaching - he didn't have much patience for it. But given the disparity between his own level of expertise and that of many of the militia elves and even some of the soldiers, Thranduil recognized that it made sense. Sergeant Renham had given Thranduil some very unhelpful lessons on how to explain drills, and then the militia officer Gwaelar (Forothon's only son) had given Thranduil some better ones. Between one thing and another, Thranduil and Renham had reached a state of detente by the end of Thranduil's first month in Meordanas. 

Thranduil had been pretty sure that whenever word reached Meordanas that Thranduil was actually "Prince Thranduil," that the detente would have been over. But strangely, it wasn't. Sergeant Renham gave him funny looks for a week or so, but he didn't treat Thranduil differently. In fact, he mostly spent his time yelling at the additional soldiers Thranduil's father and General Rochendil had sent to bolster the garrison at Meordanas. Sergeant Renham kept the silence regarding exactly whose son Thranduil was, and the only time after that when Thranduil was fairly sure the elder elf had wanted to kill him had been after Thranduil had almost led himself and four fellow soldiers to their deaths during a blizzard. 

In Thranduil's defense, they HAD rescued the lost elfling who'd gone wandering off after her puppy in the snow. Thranduil had been right, the trees WERE able to tell him where to go to find Tarador's lost little cousin. But he'd almost been wrong, the wind had almost been too fierce and the snow too deep for him to find the child and make his way back to the others. The five of them had only managed to return to the settlement by dint of Thranduil's and Soldier Adan's ability to hear the trees, and Adan couldn't have led the group back alone. So Thranduil realized that he'd nearly gotten an elfling and five soldiers killed where only one elfling would have died if he hadn't disobeyed the orders to give up the search, and persuaded the other soldiers to disobey along with him. But they were soldiers, and the elfing was, well, an elfling. If someone had to die, it should be soldiers. The others had agreed, even Laingened, but Thranduil hadn't objected to the punishments. Not the switching from Sergeant Renham, and not to the later paddling from Captain Forothon. Thranduil might well have done the same thing again - but he'd understood why he'd deserved to be punished. 

Captain Forothon and Gwaelar both claimed that Renham had a sense of humor. Thranduil wasn't sure about that, although one night, when they'd all been at the settlement's only tavern, he'd seen maybe a glimmer of something that might have been a sense of humor. The stories at the fireside had turned from scary tales of orcs, wargs, and the witch of the northern wood who ate elflings, to a subject which Thranduil found much more frightening. Gossip from the capitol. After one particularly garbled tale wherein Prince Thranduil had apparently jumped off of the top of the waterfall near Amon Lanc, only to grow magic wings and fly safely to the shore, he just had to leave the inn. He'd stood outside in the cold, star-lit silence, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Sergeant Renham had come up beside him. "Flew, did you, Soldier?" He'd asked, with what might have been a twinkle in his eye. 

"More liked WISHED I could have grown wings, when my father caught up with me." Thranduil related ruefully, stunned into honesty by his Sergeant's suddenly acting like an elf instead of a bad-tempered warg. 

"Ha!" Renham had snorted. As Thranduil stared at him, he shook his head. "Don't stay out too late, Soldier. If you're late to practice again, I'll make you wish that you could grow wings." 

The natural order of things restored with that parting threat, Renham had sauntered off into the night, whistling merrily. Thranduil hadn't ever been able to hate the elf quite so much again, after that night. He still didn't like him - Thranduil didn't like bullies. But mostly he viewed Renham as one of those annoying things about military service which one just had to tolerate on occasion, rather like wet boots, blisters, and saddle sores. 

Even as Thranduil was thinking such 'nice' thoughts about him, Sergeant Renham stopped by Laingened and Finn's ditch. Laingened's side of the hole was acceptably deep, but Finn's was much higher. Renham's mean gray eyes narrowed, as he snapped out, "Colfinnion, do you try to be stupid and lazy, or does it just come naturally to you?" 

That was that. Finn was looking shattered, and Thranduil was tired of digging ditches anyway. He was about to ask Sergeant Renham if the elf tried to be orc-like on purpose, before an older soldier, Adan, spoke up. 

"Sergeant, I think that Thranduil wants to go run laps again." 

Renham's eyes turned from the quivering Colfinnion to the glaring Thranduil, and then to calm pale-haired Adan. 

"Both of you go run laps." He ordered brusquely. "Go on! Drop the shovels and be back here in less than ten minutes, or you're doing it again." 

Thranduil reluctantly obeyed, pushing himself to meet Adan's longer stride. 

"You're a jerk." Thranduil observed. More candid than usual for him with one of the elves here, but he considered Adan almost a friend, as well as a mild pain in his rear. Most would have thought that Adan had been trying to get Thranduil into trouble, but Thranduil knew it was actually the opposite. He'd been getting Thranduil into a little bit of trouble to keep him out of a lot of it. 

Adan just snorted. "Perhaps I'm just tired of seeing you and Renham at eachother's throats. No one disagrees that he acts the warg - but Finn does need to toughen up." 

Thranduil gave him a surprised look. Finn rented a room in Adan's house, now. Or rather, it had started that way, but now Adan and his wife Merendes refused to accept payment from Finn, and treated him rather like a younger brother. 

"Just because I've come to love him doesn't mean that I don't see his faults, Thranduil." 

"Really? What are mine?" 

Adan gave him an amused look as they huffed up a hill and past a stand of beech trees. "You're excessively confident, at times. And a smart mouth, a lot of the time. And..." 

Thranduil made a rude noise. Adan just laughed in reply, before the two settled into the rhythm of their run. The only sound then became the light falls of their feet and the sounds of the wood, and the gentle 'shhh' of a light snow beginning to fall. It was vaguely hypnotic, and it made Thranduil remember the first time that he had truly noted Adan. 

He'd been vaguely aware of the other elf, of course, as he traveled north with Captain Forothon and the other elves recruited to reinforce the garrison at Meordanas. Thranduil had known that Adan had come with Forothon to Amon Lanc, and he'd even spoken to the other elf a handful of times. But mostly, Thranduil's focus on the ride from Amon Lanc to Meordanas had been, "Oh, Eru. Oh, Eru. What in Orome's name have I DONE?" Well, that and wondering how his father and his family and friends were going to react to what he'd done. Thranduil had been more than half-expecting Captain Boronthor to ride up and drag Thranduil home by the ear. 

In fact, part of Thranduil had been secretly hoping for that. Oh, it would have been excruciatingly humiliating and he would have resented it horribly, but then at least he wouldn't have had to have gone through with this whole 'posting in Meordanas' thing. Thranduil would have been able to content his conscience by saying that he'd tried. He would have been able to satisfy his hurt with his father by showing that Oropher wouldn't even notice when Thranduil left the city. And at the same time, Thranduil would have been able to have been home for Yule, albeit probably with a VERY sore backside and possibly under some form of house restriction. 

But it hadn't happened that way. Between one thing and another, it had taken Thranduil's guard and Oropher well over a day to realize that the heir was not in the city of Amon Lanc anymore, and that was only AFTER they'd noticed that he had gone missing in the first place. Which wasn't until the following evening after Thranduil had left, thanks to the cleverness of Aiwen. Who hadn't realized exactly what Thranduil was planning, and who had been rather put out with him when she found out. But Thranduil hadn't known any of that at the time. Instead, he'd been simultaneously feeling like his father didn't love him and resenting Oropher for not caring enough to send someone after him, and also anticipating with dread the sound of furious hoofbeats behind them. Hoofbeats which never came. 

Thranduil would later learn that, through a comedy of errors, it had taken over a week for Oropher to even figure out where Thranduil was headed. He learned that Oropher had been absolutely frantic, and would have been out searching for Thranduil himself, except for the flustered Aiwen's assurances that Thranduil had been calm and safe when he headed out to do whatever it was, and that he had not anticipated being in danger. Aiwen would have known if he was. 

So, by the time that Oropher and the returned Rochendil finally figured out where Thranduil was headed, it was entirely too late to catch up with him before he reached Meordanas. Thranduil, again, didn't know any of that, so he became more and more distracted and panicked, the further north they traveled. By the time they reached Emyn Duir, the mountains in the middle of the Greenwood and the large settlement which had grown up around them, Thranduil had been nearly frantic. He was torn between going to the Lord of Emyn Duir and explaining the situation and asking for advice, and between finishing what he'd started and going north to serve as a soldier in Meordanas, where they needed soldiers. 

Thranduil had pretty much decided upon the latter, by the time several hours later when they were preparing to leave Emyn Duir with a few additional recruits and supplies. A vaguely familiar face stepped up and insulted Adan, which more-or-less cemented Thranduil's plans to go north. 

Thranduil had been standing with Adan, Laingened, and the newly met Thranduil Colfinnion ('Oh, you're a Thranduil, too! Well, since you're older than me, I'll just go by Finn"). That bit had set Thranduil to growling under his breath. He hadn't wanted to become Prince of the Greenwood, and he didn't like that being the prince meant that not even his NAME got to be his own. Still, Finn seemed innocuous if annoying, and his name wasn't really his fault, so Thranduil was ignoring the problem. The three of them and the tense Laingened had been re-checking their horse's bags and tack, readying to leave Emyn Duir for the next let of their journey to Meordanas, when a loud, familiar sneer interrupted them. 

"Well, if its not Adan Erynion." A tall, dark-haired, well-dressed elf said with disdain. 

"Tawarion." Adan replied levelly. "Don't you have your own duties to be attending to?" 

The insulting elf sneered again, "Yes. Real duties, for a real posting. My father and I will defend Emyn Duir, despite the floundering of that fool Tinnulamoor whom the new King appointed as Lord of our mountains." His expression grew even more unpleasant, "Although I must say that I am surprised that even a nowhere settlement such as Meordanas would have a bastard instated as one of their most trusted soldiers. Meordanas must be truly desperate." 

Thranduil didn't like Tawarion. He'd only met the elf twice before, in meetings with the new Lord of Emyn Duir and other influential elves from the mountain region. Both times, Tawarion and his father had set Oropher's teeth on edge. Thranduil hadn't had to attend all of those meetings, luckily for him, but he'd seen enough of them to want to stand up for Adan. 

"I'd rather fight beside him than you." Thranduil spat back at Tawarion, glad that the other ellon didn't seem to recognize him. 

"And I, as well." Said Laingened fiercely. The other soldier still didn't seem to like Thranduil, but he had a backbone and he liked Adan well enough. Little Finn stood between Thranduil and Laingened, clearly frightened but intending to stand his ground with them in defense of their newly met fellow soldier. 

Tawarion raised a dark eyebrow, "Oh, the little kitty cats have claws, I see!" He laughed unpleasantly, "Well, city-bred kittens that you are, I don't suppose that you'll survive long in Meordanas." 

Thranduil was getting ready to say something insulting enough to get Tawarion to throw the first punch, when they were interrupted by a tall, blond elf who was apparently Captain Forothon's son. 

"Oh, come, Tawarion. Leave off. We've enough of a ride tonight without your histrionics. And Adan has more than proven himself to us. If I hear you starting in on him again, or any of other newbies, then I'll go get my father and see what he thinks of it." 

"Gwaelar." Tawarion greeted the newcomer with a noted lack of enthusiasm, "I see that you're still running to your Ada when something doesn't go your way." 

Gwaelar Forothonchil rolled his eyes, "Yes. What a limpet I am, to consult with my father on issues relevant to his leadership duties in respect of Meordanas, duties with which I assist him." Gwaelar turned away from Tawarion and paid him no further mind. Instead he commanded his soldiers to ride, and ride they did. Through that night and partway through another, until the weather became bad enough for Forothon to call a halt. Well, bad enough for Gwaelar to complain about their pace, which caused Forothon to agree to set up camp. 

Thranduil sat between Adan and Finn at the fire that night, with Laingened on Adan's other side. 

"Why did he call you a bastard, that elf back there, if you don't mind my asking?" Young Finn queried of Adan, innocence and insult on Adan's behalf clear to read on his guileless face. 

Thranduil looked up. He'd wanted to ask this question, but hadn't wanted to sound like an idiot, since Laingened and Gwaelar had both seemed to know what was going on. 

Adan was silent and serene for a moment. Then he answered, "I will tell you, since you stood with me when Tawarion attacked me again with his bitter tongue." The tall, blond elf sighed. "I was born Nandorin, of the most reclusive of those people, those who cling to the ancient traditions of the Laiquendi as they were before Denethor united them and fought beside the elves of Doriath." As Adan told his tale, his accent changed, becoming....more liquid. Different than anything Thranduil could ever remembering hearing, although not unpleasant or unintelligible. Adan continued, "I fell in love with a girl I met, when she was gathering firewood on the way back to her family's home in Meordanas. I left my people to court her. As is their way, my people disowned me, and banished me. Part of that was that my father could no longer give me his name. So I call myself Erynion, a son of the forest." 

Laingened explained to the still mystified Finn, "It is a name taken by bastards, who do not know their fathers, and who do not care to take their mother's names. It is not, in and of itself, an insult. But the way that Tawarion said it, it was." 

All of that was new information to Thranduil. There would be a lot of that, in the days to come. Missing his family hit him like an almost physical ache sometimes, and yet he had to push himself to learn new things and new routines. When they reached Meordanas, Thranduil found himself sharing a small bedchamber with Finn, in a boarding house near where the military garrison of Meordanas had converted a relatively small, private home into their headquarters. Thranduil supposed that sharing a bedroom with Finn was better than sharing one with Laingened, at least slightly. But he still didn't want to share a bedroom. He'd never really had to share his bedroom, except when he'd had friends staying over. This was different, and Thranduil didn't like it. 

Worse was the evening before Yule, just a few days after their arrival at the settlement. Some of the older soldiers were going to drink the night away at the local tavern. That idea didn't appeal to Thranduil, even before Laingened took up the invitation to join them. Finn seemed even more homesick than Thranduil, and stayed. 

"Do you...do you want to play dice?" The younger elf asked Thranduil. At a mere 120 years of age, Thranduil quite frankly thought that Finn was too young to have left home. Nor did he want to play dice. But it would seem rude to refuse, and if the alternative was staying in the same bedroom with Finn, going to play dice in the small common room seemed a bit better. And then maybe spending the evening outside, getting to know the trees of this place a bit better. It wouldn't be anything like being home at Amon Lanc, with the huge Yule tree and his family, but at least Thranduil could be honest with the trees. 

But Finn didn't know that, so Thranduil nodded. Even as they sat down at the kitchen table with the dice, the Prince began plotting how soon he could make his escape. For all his naivete, Finn was not a bad dice player. That would make the game take longer, but at least it was slightly diverting. Thranduil looked up for a moment as he heard the outer door open and close. The widow who rented out their rooms had gone to her daughter's house for the day, and he hadn't expected the tavern group to be back so soon. For one wild moment he thought it might be his father, or someone come for him. But then he saw the windblown form of Adan, and looked back to the dice game to hide the pricking of tears in his eyes. 

"This will never do." The quiet soldier commented, and Thranduil found himself bundled along with Finn, will he nill he, to join Adan his wife for dinner. It was nice of the older soldier and his pretty bride, but Thranduil would rather have been on his own. He couldn't stop thinking about Yule at home. This wasn't the first time he'd been away for the holiday, but it was the first time he had been alone, and without his father's permission, at that. His mother would be in Lothlorien, and he'd meant to be with her. But his own failure in not handling the situation with Amroth better meant that he couldn't be with Felith, and because of an idiotic, selfish decision in a moment of hurt pique, he couldn't be with his father, either. Oh, he had wanted to help Captain Forothon and his village, but if Thranduil had been thinking clearly, he would have just invited the elf back to the palace to meet with his father. Oropher would have listened to the ellon's problems, Thranduil was sure of it. Oropher's being a conscientious King wasn't always something which Thranduil was glad of, because it cost him his father's time. But Thranduil was always proud of his father for it. 

And now, because Thranduil had been such a fool, he was alone this Yule. Well, alone except for these two strangers, which meant that he was functionally alone. 

Adan opened the door to his cozy house, waving them both inside. Thranduil wasn't particularly interested in Adan's home or life, but he was by nature and training always alert to his surroundings. Which is why he surveyed the entry hall, and then gaped. 

Finn had seen the same thing, but his reaction was delight. "Oh! It's portraits of the King and Queen. And the Prince. I'm named for him, you know. Thranduil is, too." Finn turned to smile at Thranduil, who was just glad that the copied portrait of him was one from when he had been a small elfling. He even remembered the day, not long after his parents' official coronation. Aiwen and Fileg's mother Emlineth had bribed him to sit still for the portrait with a promise of taking him to visit kittens later. 

"Yes." Adan said in answer, "My wife likes them." His tone was that of an elf who had a world of patience, even amusement, for his bride's foibles. Thranduil heard it, and ached a little inside. So did his own father describe his mother's determination to still sew her own clothes, and some of Thranduil's and Oropher's. Fortunately, the appearance of Merendes distracted the others from Thranduil's abstraction. 

Thranduil was not easily impressed by feminine fairness. He had grown up surrounded by lovely ellith, and had been regularly pursued by elegant court beauties since even before his coming-of-age. But even he was surprised for a moment by the comeliness of Adan's doe-like wife. It was not, perhaps, the symmetry of her features, but rather an inner radiance. When Merendes smiled at Adan, Thranduil could understand why the ellon had left his people for her. 

"Welcome, both of you." She greeted Thranduil and Finn in her sweet, kind voice. "How fortunate that you could come! My parents were to join us, but the bridge over the Forest River apparently washed out in last night's storm. It is nice to have guests, and my cooking will not go to waste!" 

The food was good, if strange to Thranduil. The company was at least distracting, which was better than he could have hoped for. Merendes and Adan both knew a lot about the north of the Wood, including the settlement of Meordanas and its history, as well as the nearby communities of dwarves in the Gray Mountains and the humans whose villages had grown up around them, prospering on trade. 

"Since King Oropher came to the Wood," Merendes explained, "that trade has increased greatly. It allowed my parents to expand their business. Now they manage stores in several other settlements, including one just past where the Forest River meets the Enchanted River, and another near the mouth of the River Running, for trading with the humans to the west and the dwarves in the Iron Hills. If the next few coronari prove as prosperous as the last, they are thinking about building a storefront in Emyn Duir." 

Thranduil could also understand why Adan could be so quiet. Merendes could keep up a bright, happy river of chatter all by herself. Finn was only too happy to talk about his wonderful, loving family, and about what Emyn Duir was like, so Thranduil was able to keep quiet. Adan and Merendes seemed to understand that Thranduil preferred to. They did not press Thranduil to join the conversation, and they subtly redirected Finn's interest when he asked questions of Thranduil. 

The only moment of real discomfort for Thranduil came when Merendes began speaking of the royal family, after Thranduil answered a question of Finn's about Amon Lanc with a monosyllabic "No." 

"Oh, I think it must be ever so exciting there!" She exclaimed, her brown eyes sparkling. "What with the palace, and all the fine lords and ladies, and the foreigners in and out! My father's employees always come back with the most fascinating stories. One of the wives told me of a ball they were invited to attend at the palace itself!" 

Merendes proceeded to rhapsodize over the elegance of the second hand description of Queen Felith's dress, and Oropher's regal elegance, and the handsomeness of Prince Thranduil himself. Thranduil winced and hoped that he hadn't been doing anything too interesting that day. Unfortunately for him, Finn found this an interesting topic and the discussion turned to rumors from the capitol. There was nothing quite like hearing a garbled version of one's elflinghood exploits regaled by strangers. 

"As fascinating as their lives must be, I do feel rather sorry for them, particularly the Prince." Merendes confessed, "It must be rather like living in a fishbowl." 

Thranduil nodded. It was. 

"I haven't heard many rumors about Prince Thranduil lately," Finn said, "But my mother's cousin's friend, a baker in Amon Lanc, wrote us that the Prince's cousin, Lord Fileg, turned a merchant into a goose! And just before the merchant was to meet with the King, too!" 

While Thranduil's mind boggled, Adan laughed at the ridiculousness of that. "No one can turn anyone else into a goose. Maybe Lord Fileg just made the fellow look like a goose?" 

Thranduil just shook his head. What Fileg had actually done was position a bucket of syrup over the entry to the bathing chamber in the ellon's suite, and then set a pillow to tear above his head when he stepped into the bathtub to wash off the syrup. Thranduil hadn't been involved, but only because he had been in Lothlorien. Fileg had been certain that the merchant was leading his sister on, and from their letters Thranduil thought that Fileg probably had the right of that. The merchant had dropped his suit for Aiwen immediately after that incident. Aiwen had stopped speaking to her brother for a week, and the whole matter had been public enough that Fileg had been forced go with Thranduil's uncle on his diplomatic trip to Lindon, at least until the gossip died down. Which, apparently, hadn't happened yet. 

Adan and Merendes, perhaps sensing Thranduil's discomfort, changed the subject. As they shared old stories in which elves and men really were changed into geese or swans or bears, Thranduil was able to relax. As Yule eves went, it was still his worst ever. But it could have been lonelier and colder still, so he was a little grateful that it hadn't been. And smug the next morning when he set out on patrol, since Laingened had overindulged in ale and spent the morning vomiting in the bathroom. Being on patrol on Yule itself also kept Thranduil from thinking too much about how he missed his family. A cow fell through the ice over the river, which wasn't the most heroic rescue mission that Thranduil could have imagined taking over, but the cow's owners were at least grateful. Not so much the cow, but Thranduil supposed that one couldn't have everything. It would have been nice not to have a huge bruise from being stepped on, but that, as well, helped to take his mind off of things. 

Thranduil learned that being busy was a good palliative for home sickness. Captain Forothon had not been lying when he told them that the garrison in Meordanas was too small to meet the demands of a border settlement in the increasingly populated and heavily traveled Greenwood. Thranduil and the other soldiers worked double the shifts Thranduil had been accustomed to taking in Amon Lanc, and that didn't even count the further out patrols. The other soldiers had unkind things to say about the elves and men who were foolish enough or desperate enough to travel in the winter. Thranduil tried not to mind that, since the travelers did make their lives more difficult, getting stuck one place, lost another, or chased by bandits or wolves. But the Prince himself remembered when he and his family had been desperate enough to travel in the winter, and so he went out of his way to be kind to the voyagers, particularly the children. 

Two weeks after Thranduil arrived in Meordanas, the summons he had been expecting finally came, just as he was getting off his first long patrol to the east of the settlement. As he went past the stables to Captain Forothon's office, Thranduil saw several faces he recognized, including Soldier Esgaldor. He didn't see any of the faces he expected, not his guards or his father or any of their friends.

He did see a very angry Captain Forothon. Well, the elder elf was controlling his emotions well, but Thranduil could tell that he was quietly furious. 

"Sit." The ellon commanded, as Thranduil entered his office. "But first close the door." 

Thranduil obeyed, wincing as he sat. Mostly at the thought of what he was about to hear, but also because the bruise on his thigh from where the cow had stepped on him had been aggravated by learning to mountain climb in his 'spare time' the previous week. It required a lot of muscles which Thranduil, despite over a century of intensive military training, had never really been aware that he possessed before, but it was required for soldiers posted at the settlement, and for Meordanas' part-time militia, since they were so often called upon to support rescue missions in the Gray Mountains. 

"So." Forothon said with a sigh, looking between the silent Thranduil and a letter in his hands, "My long journey to Amon Lanc, my reasoned requests, my practically begging, simply resulted in reluctant permission from your general's adjutant for me to take on any warriors at liberty who would come with me. Your disappearance and subsequent reappearance here, Your Highness, have brought us more than the numbers of soldiers I had hoped for, in even my most optimistic plans. And not only the soldiers, but the coin to equip them and house them." 

Thranduil shrugged uncomfortably. "If Rochendil - General Rochendil- had been there when you came, I don't think that you'd have had to beg. His assistant just isn't accustomed to having to make decisions like that, I don't think." 

The Captain laughed, and walked over to stand beside his window. "I am trying," He said after a moment, "Not to resent you, for this. For putting me in a difficult position with your powerful father, or for bringing but a few weeks behind you everything I needed to solve my problems, simply by your mere presence." 

Thranduil stayed quiet. He didn't know what to say. 

Forothon sighed. "Until and unless you show me differently, I am going to continue to assume that you are exactly what you have shown yourself to be thus far. A gifted young soldier who is difficult enough to drive Sergeant Renham crazy, yet competent enough that no one is suggesting it would be helpful to send you home." 

Frowning, Thranduil asserted, "All I've ever wanted is to be treated like any other soldier." Well, he also wanted to see his father, and apologize. And have Oropher apologize. But most of all, to be at peace with him, and safe within the circle of his father's love and regard. 

Looking at Thranduil, Forothon softened. "I believe you, Thranduil." He reached out to hand Thranduil a letter, which the Prince accepted with a trembling hand. "This is the last time we will talk of this, unless something comes up requiring me to speak to Prince Thranduil, rather than soldier Thranduil." Forothon declared. 

Thranduil nodded numbly, standing and planning to find a private place to read the letter. It bore his name in Oropher's elegant handwriting, a bit rushed as if the Aran had been angry, or at least upset. 

"Good. Then you are dismissed." Forothon turned back to contemplating the correspondence on his desk with annoyed yet grateful disbelief, and Thranduil got up to leave. Just as he reached the door, Forothon added, "Oh, and Soldier? Get your leg checked out again." 

Thranduil nodded. He would look at it himself. 

He left the building in a daze, fortunately making his way out of the settlement without having to talk to anyone. He climbed a high tree by the river, and stared southward. With shaking fingers, he opened Oropher's letter. 

"Ion muin nin," it began, instead of "Prince Thranduil." Thranduil hoped that that was a promising sign, but Oropher was clearly unhappy with him. No surprise, that. Thranduil thought that this might have possibly topped his last, 'worst thing ever,' even if what he'd done this time was entirely legal, so far as he could tell. 

"I cannot imagine what you were thinking." Oropher's letter continued, "I cannot express to you in words how much I miss you, have missed you, even before I knew what foolishness you were about. I am terribly sorry that I missed going riding with you the last day I saw you, ion-nin. Knowing your temper as I know my own, I can understand that you were upset. I can understand that you felt as if you needed some time to yourself." 

Thranduil pressed his head against the bark of the pine he sat in, which murmured comfortingly in his ears and mind. 

"What I cannot understand," Oropher's letter continued, "Is why you settled upon this particular manner of showing me how upset you were. You are still and will always be my elfling, my beloved baby son, but you are no longer a child, Thranduil. I cannot always rescue you from the consequences of your own decisions, particularly not when you have gone to such pains to make it seem like nothing but royal prerogative if I do. If you wanted to 'run away' beyond my reach, Thranduil, then you should congratulate yourself, because you have succeeded. I expect beyond your own wildest dreams. I would not have sent you so far away, even if you had asked. Yes, I could recall you, but I would have to do so as Aran. I could try to do so as a father who misses his son, but such a request would have to be at your Captain's pleasure, or at least at Rochendil's. If you wish for me to do so, you will have to ask." 

The letter closed with affection and relays of good wishes from other members of Thranduil's family and close friends. Thranduil rested his the back of his head against the pine tree again, looking up at the sun and fluffy white clouds with tears in his eyes, and almost wishing that the clouds were gray and threatening rain. When he finally had himself under control, he went back to the boarding house which wasn't home. He didn't write a reply. Thranduil desperately wanted to ask to go home, but his pride wouldn't let him. He didn't want to say anything mean, or defiant, and he couldn't write without breaking down or being spiteful, so he just didn't write. Forothon had to stop him on the way back from dinner one night, and insist that he write his father something, so that Oropher would know that Thranduil wasn't being held against his will. 

If he had to choose between begging and insolence, Thranduil would almost always choose to be the contrary. So he wrote his father a letter saying that he was perfectly happy serving as a soldier in Meordanas. He added that at least in the far northern village they actually needed and appreciated Thranduil being around, even if it was only because he was another warrior and they needed one. 

Oropher's reply, when it reached Thranduil over a month later, showed the King's irritation but more his affection. Thranduil's father understood almost precisely what Thranduil was feeling, the Prince thought, and Oropher seemed to be determined to just reiterate his esteem and love for Thranduil until Thranduil worked himself out of this snit. Felith's letter was a bit more upset, but Oropher had added to his missive that Thranduil's mother was, in part, just being overprotective and that Thranduil should take her high emotion with that in mind. Felith was harder to write to in such a snotty fashion, so Thranduil asked her to send him things instead of dwelling on emotion. He asked for sweets, and for toys, describing the elven and human refugees and travelers making their way over the border into the Wood, how little they had and how they asked for less. 

Felith responded in high style, sending bags of sweets (which Thranduil shared with the other soldiers, because if not he could have made himself sick for weeks), and also literally wagons full of toys, dolls, warm blankets, light-weight cooking ware and other useful tools, rain-proof cloaks, and yards and yards of cloth for making into sensible trousers, dresses, and tunics. Captain Forothon gave Thranduil a dark look when he saw those wagons come rolling into the yard, but that didn't stop the Captain from fulfilling the Queens' requests with every other appearance of good grace. 

Then, several things happened which tested Thranduil's resolve not to communicate with his father beyond basic necessities. The first was almost dying in a blizzard. Thranduil desperately wanted his father after that, even though Oropher might well have been harder on him than Captain Forothon had been. 

"I will be writing your father, about this." Forothon told Thranduil the following day. 

"You wouldn't care about this so much if I weren't the Prince!" Thranduil hissed, clenching his fists in fury. He'd thought that Forothon was fair. 

The Captain glared right back at him. "I will ignore the way in which you expressed that thought, because you're young and you otherwise took your punishments well. I will ignore it once, Soldier, so shut your mouth until I'm done talking." 

It was curiosity more than obedience which kept Thranduil quiet as Forothon continued, "I'm writing the fathers of the other soldiers as well. And think before you speak, in the future. Once you have had to write a letter consoling an elf on his son's death, I daresay that you will realize it doesn't matter who his father is." 

That shocked Thranduil into silence. Forothon sighed, and sympathy flickered into the golden depths of his brandy-colored eyes. "I hope that you will never have to do so, Thranduil. But given your career and ambitions as much as your parentage, I fear that is unlikely."

Thranduil had to write his father, after that. But if he did, he would end up telling Oropher how terribly much he missed him and asking to come home, and he couldn't do that. So he wrote the letter he wanted to write, and then folded it and stuffed it underneath his mattress. Fortunately for Thranduil's resolve to never send that letter, Oropher wrote Thranduil so soon after receiving Forothon's missive about the blizzard mishap that Oropher hadn't had a chance to calm down before setting quill to parchment. Thranduil was able to write a stiffly cold letter back, just on the line of not insolent enough for Oropher to recall him. Oropher's next letter after that was affectionate and loving as well as stern, despite Thranduil's provocation, but the moment had still passed. 

And it didn't come again until nearly a month later. It was the dead of winter, and a band of desperate orcs had come out of the Gray Mountains. 

"Why the dwarves chase them our way without giving fair warning, I'll never know." Adan complained wearily, as the elves pursued the orcs for another day. They'd killed enough of the enemy to make them turn away from the settlement, but these orcs were cruel and dangerous as well as desperate. Forothon's son Gwaelar, who was in command of their patrol even though he was just a militia officer, had been unwilling to let the orcs get away. Thranduil's blood was up and at first he had agreed with that decision, but as they ranged further and further away from Meordanas, he wasn't sure it had been the right one. 

Gwaelar, who would always speak up for the dwarves, argued, "They did send a bird. It's not their fault that it didn't get here before the orcs." 

Laingened stared at him. 

Thranduil did more. "It was a nocturnal thrush!" He upbraided their commanding officer harshly, "They sent it during the day, of course it got lost and hungry! 'Twas a marvel it found us at all!" 

"Stand down, Soldier." Gwaelar said firmly, at the same time as Adan gave Thranduil a look and sent him off to mark their backtrail. Gwaelar later explained that to the dwarves, it was always dark, so they didn't really understand the distinction between animals active during the night and day. That was a very poor excuse, in Thranduil's opinion. 

They trailed the orcs away from the Forest River, towards the edge of the Wood, in the direction of the Great River of Wilderland and the Misty Mountains. Thranduil had never been to that part of the Wood. Neither had Gwaelar or any of the others, save Adan, who grew more and more tense. 

"There's a blind spot, around this bend." He warned Gwaelar. "If I were the enemy and I were going to set up an ambush, I'd do it there." 

"We have them on the run." Gwaelar argued. "Why would they bother?" 

Tarador nodded as if that made sense. Thranduil caught Laingened's eyes. 

'Militia.' Mouthed Laingened soundlessly, rolling his eyes. Thranduil inclined his head slightly in agreement. 

Adan was right. Gwaelar was wrong, and he fell with an orc arrow in his right shoulder in the first few moments of the engagement. That left Adan in charge, by seniority, but he didn't have much more experience at being under fire than any of the others did. They all had their bows for the range, at first. 

Thranduil switched to his sword without orders as the orcs came closer, and commanded Laingened and Tarador to do the same. Adan and Finn and the others weren't swordsmen enough to justify abandoning their bows, particularly not given the speed and accuracy of their arrows. Laingened hesitated, because Thranduil was not in charge, but then Thranduil ordered it again, and the older soldier obeyed. Thranduil didn't even notice until later, but an enemy arrow hit his shoulder. Specifically, it pierced the cloak pocket into which he'd slipped the mithril cloak pin which Aiwen had given him, not wanting to risk losing it during their patrol. The mithril wasn't even chipped; the arrow just bounced off, leaving only a hole in Thranduil's cloak. 

There was a reason that the elven patrol had had the orcs on the run, despite the monsters' greater numbers. The skirmish went badly for the orcs, and they turned to run again. Adan, who'd gotten over his shock at suddenly being in command, at first gave the signal to let their enemy flee. They had wounded, Gwaelar and one other, and they needed to regroup at the least. The orcs either hadn't understood Adan's intent or were just terminally stupid as well as cruel, since one of them rode back far enough to show the elven warriors that they had an elf to hostage. Thranduil vaguely recognized the ellon as Bregalen, an itinerant tinker and toy-maker. Thranduil had purchased several puppets for him, at a discounted price once Bregalen realized that they were intended for several of the children passing through Meordanas. 

Adan ordered the bulk of their patrol to pursue, while leaving two of the militia elves and Finn with their injured. Thranduil was already moving when that order came. Through the darkening wood and rushing streams they raced, as the orcs, belatedly realizing their mistake, grew more and more violent and rash. Thranduil, through his singing blood and the trees urging him on, was vague aware of the forest...changing. It was almost like being in Caras Galadhon with Galadriel sifting through his mind, only different. But the enemy was ahead, just coming into reach, so Thranduil paid it little mind. Adan gave the call to halt, but Thranduil didn't. 

All of a sudden, the ground under him gave way. Thranduil would have fallen into a pit of spikes, save for Adan grabbing him about the waist and slowing his descent. Laingened and two others pulled them both up. Adan kept an arm around Thranduil. 

"Shh." He said. "Wait." 

Moments later, they heard the death cries of the orcs. More traps, Thranduil supposed, from the sounds of it. Mere minutes later, Bregalen came hiking back to them, a sour look on his face. 

"Stinking, foul creatures." He muttered, acting as if the orcs had been some kind of an inconvenience instead of almost his death. "All dead now." He assured them. 

Night was falling, and more snow with it. Practically another blizzard. They had no choice except to make camp. Bregalen tended to their wounded, while Adan and Thranduil had a quiet, angry talk about chain of command and respect for hazards. The night turned cold, bitter cold. A cold which Thranduil felt in his mind rather than in his bones. 

Adan became to strained to argue with Thranduil. Bregalen harrumphed, and went to go yell at the trees. 

"Calm down, ye persnickety, cold-fish of a loon!" He shouted, while the soldiers hurried to hush him. Adan again gave the command to stand down. Thranduil was bemused and curious enough to obey, even if he hadn't decided yet that Adan really knew more about what was going on than he did. 

"We don't even want to BE in your precious corner of the forest!" Bregalen called again. The cold...lifted. There was no other word for it. Oh, it was still chilly. It was snowing, after all. But the snow seemed insulating all of a sudden, like proper snow. Thranduil, by then nursing a sore bottom, was sent out for firewood along with Laingened. Who was, fortunately, too shaken to even gloat properly. As they returned to camp, they found a satchel with healing supplies inside, just far enough away from their camp not to be seen from the fire. 

Bregalen snorted as Adan handed it to him. "About time." He muttered, using the herbs to make a tea for Gwaelar and the others. The wounded were improved enough to leave the following morning. Not more than a few hours away from the area where the forest had turned strange, reinforcements from Meordanas reached them. Some of the soldiers Thranduil recognized from Amon Lanc were there, including Esgaldor. 

"What was that?" Thranduil asked Adan, after they had returned to the settlement and survived several harrowing, detailed debriefings with their Captain and Sergeant. 

Adan hesitated. 

"I almost died." Thranduil pointed out irritably. "I think that I deserve to know." 

"You almost died because you didn't listen." Adan corrected, with a scowl. 

"If you don't tell me, I'm going to ride back there on my first free day and find out." Thranduil said. "I know that I can find it again. The trees will tell me where to start, and my head started to itch, when we got close." 

Adan glared at him, but finally deigned to answer. The vexation left his face, and a shadow of his normal serenity returned, as he explained, "That, Thranduil, was the Witch of the Northern Woods." 

Thranduil frowned, "I thought him a fireside tale." 

Adan huffed. "Well, he is no witch. Just an old, powerful elf. He is the leader, for lack of a better word, of my father's people. They guard their 'corner of the woods,' as Bregalen described it, most fiercely and effectively." 

"Do they really eat bad elflings?" Thranduil asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

"Err..no. Not really." Adan answered, "And you're too old to be eaten, in any case." 

Thranduil stuck out his tongue, and the two got into an argument, as a result of which Adan apologized for having failed to give the appropriate force redeployment orders during the skirmish, thus leaving it to Thranduil to do so, and Thranduil apologized for having pretty much ignored all of Adan's orders after that. Thranduil had more to apologize for, but Adan was gracious by nature, so it worked out. 

Thranduil had to write his father after that. He told Oropher everything, in his letter. How he'd messed up badly enough that if the patrol had been following him instead of Adan, then they'd have all fallen to their deaths in traps set by other elves. How he found it all confusing, because if he hadn't taken over command from Adan in the beginning, they might have all died during the orcs' ambush. How Thranduil didn't understand why an elf so powerful as this 'witch' wouldn't do more to protect the Wood as a whole, and not just his own people. And how he didn't understand why a leader would have forced a good elf like Adan to choose between love and his family and way of life. Thranduil stuck that letter with the other one under his mattress, although he actually intended to send it, at first. 

Until Oropher's next missive arrived. Thranduil stalked to Forothon's office. 

"You wrote my father!" He accused. 

"Amend your manner, Soldier, and close the door." Forothon commanded. 

Thranduil didn't have enough control of his temper to manage that, so it took half an hour and a spanking for Thranduil later, before the two were able to discuss the matter quietly. 

"I did not write to your father." Forothon told him, and Thranduil could tell that it was the truth. "Mistakes were made in pursuit of those orcs, but not just yours. If something similar happens again, then yes, I will write your father. And suspend you, as I did my own son, who is older than you and Adan, and more experienced, and should have known better." 

Thranduil frowned. "If you didn't tell him, then one of THEM did." By THEM, Thranduil meant the soldiers his father had sent. 

"I think so, yes." Forothon agreed, a surprising bit of humor glimmering in his eyes. "Fortunately for you, I also dislike being told what to do. Obey orders in the future, Soldier, and I will continue to contort my schedules in order to keep your father's spies out of your patrols and off of your shifts." 

"Oh." Said Thranduil, who hadn't really realized that Forothon was doing that. After that, Thranduil did take a greater care to obey orders. Not so much because he appreciated the conspiracy to let him be truly like any other soldier, although he did, but because he'd nearly gotten other elves killed for no good reason. And Thranduil meant never to do that again, if he could help it. 

With all of that in mind, Thranduil stirred himself from his reverie as he and Adan ran out of the forest and back towards the settlement. "Hey." Said Thranduil, "Thanks. For keeping me out of trouble with Renham. And for saving my life. And...stuff." 

Adan laughed. "You are welcome, Thranduil. But please do try to remember, in the future, that the proper reply to a superior's order is, 'Yes, Sir,' rather than, 'And why should I?' or 'Give me a good reason,' or just flat-out disobedience. 

"I will try." Thranduil promised, with a smile of his own. 

Adan frowned at him, not angrily, just frustrated. "And get that ankle you 'twisted' last week seen to again. You're limping." 

"I am not." Thranduil objected, even though he was a little. His ankle might be a little bit bit sprained, but it wasn't really worth bothering about or taking time off for, and Thranduil dearly wanted to be busy as Yule approached again. He and Adan finished their run, and rejoined the others for a final hour or so of ditch-digging fun. 

On the walk back to the boarding house after they were dismissed, Thranduil was hit by a fierce pang of homesickness. He couldn't believe that he was about to spend his second Yule away from home. Every courier who came and left brought letters from his family and friends and then turned around with Thranduil's shorter replies, but it wasn't the same. Thranduil wasn't much of a letter writer, for one, and he just missed his home and family. Seized by a sudden moment of courage, he dashed upstairs to his room, grabbed the pile of letters to his father from under his mattress, and sprinted off to give them to the courier before he left. 

Renham caught him along the way. "The Captain wants you." He grunted. 

Thranduil frowned, but decided that it wasn't worth arguing about. Now that he'd decided he was going to do so, he could always give the letters to the next courier. His father wouldn't approve of keeping a Captain waiting, and there was no way that Thranduil was going to hand the letters off to Renham to give to the courier. 

Forothon looked up as Thranduil came in, and gestured for him to sit and be at ease. 

"I'm sending Sergeant Renham and several others to Amon Lanc with messages and supply requests." The Captain told him. 

Thranduil tilted his head, wondering what that had to do with him. Maybe he could send the letters south with the group. Not with Sergeant Renham, but with someone else, maybe. The letters said everything that he'd wanted to say, but that his pride had kept him from actually sending, until now. He'd done enough; he'd been strong for long enough. His heart ached as he contemplated sending mere parchment to his father, even if that parchment did say, 'I miss you' and 'I love you,' and 'I want to come home to you, Ada,' a dozen times over. 

"Do you want to go home with them, Thranduil?" Forothon clarified, his tone gentle. 

Thranduil looked up, startled and barely daring to hope. His surprised joy quickly turned to worry. He didn't want to get to go home because he was 'the Prince.' 

Forothon frowned. "Do you not want to return to your father's palace? My impression had been that you and your family are close, despite your having come here without their leave. But if that is not the case, I can say that I did not give you the choice."

"No!" Thranduil quickly clarified. "I want to go home, Captain. I really, really want to go home. But I don't want to get to go, just because I am who I am." 

Forothon gave him an amused, reassuring half-smile. "In that case, do not worry, Soldier Thranduil. In the past, we have not often had so many lads from the south here, but I have always tried to send the youngest home for the holidays, Yule and mid-summer both." Forothon's expression turned wry, "I try to send Sergeant Renham, as well. His great-niece and her daughter live in Emyn Duir, and he becomes, ah, difficult, if he does not get to see them every few months. You may have noticed." 

"Er, no. I mean, I thought he was always....um." 

Captain Forothon laughed. "No. Or at least not quite so much so." 

Thranduil blushed, but still tried to make sure, "Does that mean that Finn...er, Thranduil Colfinnion, and Laingened Helethirion, they are going back to their homes, as well?" Finn was younger than Thranduil by forty years, and after him Thranduil was the youngest soldier posted in Meordanas by a good several centuries. Then came Laingened, who was still one of the youngest, and the most junior in age whose family was not resident in Meordanas or one of the surrounding settlements. 

"Colfinnion will leave our southward patrol when it stops at Emyn Duir, to spend time with his family. Helethirion...Laingened, he will go onto Amon Lanc with Sergeant Renham." Forothon eyed Thranduil steadily for a moment, before adding, "Laingened will be staying with Renham, at the military's guest house. He wishes to see his mother, but his relationship with his father is difficult. Laingened will be returning to Emyn Duir with Renham, and he will stay there for additional military training, sponsored by myself and Merendes' father." 

Thranduil nodded, only half surprised. After the near-disaster with the blizzard and the orcs, he and Finn and most of the other soldiers had received worried letters from their parents. Finn's Adar and Naneth seemed to express worry with more in the way of loving endearments then irritation over their son having endangered his life, but even Finn had said that if he'd been home after they lived through that blizzard, he would have been spanked once he was over being half-frozen to death. Laingened had never received such a letter, and in fact only very occasionally received anything at all, and only then from his mother. 

"In saying this to you, I am trusting that you will keep it quiet." Forothon told Thranduil quietly. "And more, to do your best to keep Laingened's future plans from being a topic of conversation on the way south, without letting on that you're doing it." 

"Don't ask for much, do you?" Thranduil forgot himself enough to say. 

Forothon smiled slightly. "I think that you're up to the challenge, Soldier." Forothon's expression became more serious again, but also fond. Before Thranduil left, he said quietly, "As you may have gathered, Thranduil, I was one of those who was not entirely in favor, when the Elders of the Wood made their decision to ask your father to become our King." 

Thranduil remained silent. He had realized that, more or less, but he didn't know why Forothon would out-and-out say it. But it didn't sound like a criticism, so he exercised some self-control and waited for his commanding officer to finish talking. 

"I hesitated to share this with you because I was determined to treat you as any other soldier." Forothon continued, his brown eyes meeting Thrandui's blue orbs, "But I do think that it is important for you to know - I think better of the father, having come to know the son." 

Thranduil didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded and thanked his Captain, a little stiffly. Then he went back to his bedroom and packed. He hardly slept a wink that night, but he was still brightly awake and happy as their group prepared to leave the following morning. 

"I thank you all for your service." Captain Forothon said to them, before they rode for the south. "I do not know that I will see you again, or if you will be assigned somewhere else. But I would be honored to have each and every one of you return to serve under my command."


	3. Chapter 3

[Approximately year 1840 Second Age, Approaching Amon Lanc. A year and a day since Thranduil Left] 

As each mile passed, the sights and the sounds and the very smell of the woods seemed to welcome Thranduil home. There, to the left, was the wood where he and his gwedyr had once pretended to be bears, to give Thranduil's guards a scare. Another mile closer, and there was the stream where Thranduil and Oropher would usually stop to water their horses when they went riding together. His excitement grew to the point where he was tempted to let Galithil have his head, and race back to his familiar stables. 

Sergeant Renham chuckled. It was the sound of humor one might expect from an elf, and not the cackle of a goblin. Thranduil didn't stare, though. It had turned out that when the sergeant didn't have dozens of young elven soldiers to keep from getting themselves killed, he wasn't actually so bad. When they'd had to stop for an extra night to wait for another message to take south, Renham had even taken them to see the great caves of northern greenwood, tremendous echoing caverns which had been carved out by the Forest River as it tumbled south to meet the River Running. Thranduil had been fascinated by it, and the comparisons Renham made between the cave system and long-lost Menegroth, the capitol of Thranduill's great-great-Uncle, Aran Elu of Doriath. 

In no time at all, they came to the place where Thranduil would have to turn off to return to the palace proper, instead of continuing on to Sergeant Renham's destination. Laingened and several of the others eyed Thranduil with curiosity as he paused. At the same time, Captain Boronthor and Soldier Angtheldir of Thranduil's guard came riding up. 

"Ah, Thranduil." Boronthor greeted his wayward charge, seemingly ignoring Thranduil's pleading look, at least until he continued, "Sergeant, this soldier's father....works...at the palace, and is a friend of mine. He will... go on duty soon. If you would excuse Thranduil early, then I am sure that he would be grateful." 

Renham agreed graciously, or at least graciously for Renham, and so Thranduil was able to be escorted home, with no one the wiser as to the fact that he was THAT Thranduil, the Crown Prince Thranduil. 

Thranduil was practically overwhelmed as he rode into the courtyard. He handed Galithil's reins off to a grinning Rochirion in a daze. He knew that he owed his guards an apology, but he couldn't think beyond seeing his father again. Thranduil and his party evidently hadn't been expected, or at least not yet. Oropher was in one of his council chambers, and he only received the message that Thranduil had come home just a moment before he looked up and met Thranduil's eyes. The joy and intensity of seeing one another again after their longest ever separation connected father and son for a few singing moments, vibrating with the strength of their high emotions. 

Then Oropher straightened, and to Thranduil'ls shock, left his scrolls and maps and brushed past his advisors to come and embrace his son. 

Thranduil hugged his father back, blinking back tears. "I love you, Ada. I missed you." He whispered fiercely. 

"It's well, Thranduil." Oropher said, pulling away just far enough to kiss his son's dusty forehead and run a hand over Thranduil's sweat and snow drenched golden hair, as if it were the most precious thing that the King of the mighty Greenwood had ever touched. "All is well, now that you are home, and I can hold you in my arms again." 

Oropher suited actions to words, and Thranduil found himself tightly wrapped in his father's arms again. He buried his head against his father's green velvet robes, murmuring, "I'm so sorry. I wanted to come home. I wanted to TELL you that I wanted to come home, that I'd made a mistake. But I couldn't. I..." 

"Shh, ion-nin." Oropher interrupted, pulling away again to cup Thranduil's cheek in his hand. "I know. I know you, and I know that." 

Thranduil was vaguely aware of the whispering advisors being herded from the room by Herdir, but mostly his attention was on his father. How his eyes had thirsted for the sight of his father, how his heart had ached to be once again be held by his father's piercing emerald gaze. 

"I missed you." Thranduil said again, the room now empty except for them. 

"I know." Oropher said, stroking his son's golden braids again. The King's broad smile became amused as well as joyful, as he added, "You said that already, but you have my leave to say it again. As often as you would like to, in fact." 

Thranduil fought a laugh, the humor brought on by his intense feelings of relief at seeing his father again, and at knowing that Oropher still loved him, no matter how awful Thranduil had been to Oropher. 

Oropher saw to it that Thranduil ate, and then chivied him off to bathe. Thranduil knew that his father must be terribly busy, but Oropher didn't leave his side at all the rest of the afternoon. The King shook his head over how much weight Thranduil had lost, and smacked his son's thigh when he saw Thranduil's swollen ankle. Thranduil almost enjoyed the lecture on taking better care of himself which followed, so much had he missed his father. He didn't entirely enjoy it, or the ensuing visit from Master Helaer Nestorion and the nasty potion he was made to swallow, but Oropher stayed beside him as Thranduil laid down to take the nap the healer had recommended. 

"Oh!" Thranduil remembered, already a bit woozy from the potion. "Your letters...or my letters, to you." 

"I received your letters, ion-nin." Oropher said dryly. "And you're lucky that I think a year away from home was punishment enough, without going into your recent shortcomings as a correspondent." 

Thranduil had the grace to blush. "No, not those letters. Um, these." He got up to reach into his travel bags, and hand his father the long, truthful missives which he'd written, never truly intending for Oropher to see. 

Oropher accepted them gravely, although Thranduil could see both gratitude and surprise in his father's green eyes. 

"Oh!" Thranduil exclaimed, beginning to hop over to his desk. 

"Thranduil! Sit down!" Oropher ordered, frustrated. Thranduil stopped for a moment, confused. Oropher sighed, and came to support him. "What is it, ion-nin?" 

The Prince allowed himself to be steered back to his bed, but he pointed to the bottom drawer of his desk. "There, Ada. There's one more letter for you. One that Nana gave me to give to you, when I got back from Lothlorien." 

Oropher narrowed his eyes as he tucked Thranduil back into bed. "Gave you...to give to me, ion-nin? And did you?" 

Thranduil blushed and shook his head. "No. Um, I was supposed to, but you...well, I got annoyed, and I, um, didn't." 

His father sighed. "Ah. Well, you will sleep. I will read these, and that one too, I suppose." He shook his head in fond, loving exasperation, and stayed by Thranduil's bed until his son fell asleep. 

"I am so very glad to have you home." Thranduil heard his father murmur as he slipped onto the path of dreams. "So very glad, ion-laes-nin."


	4. Chapter 4

Thranduil was slow to come to wakefulness. His bed, in his own room, was so very soft. It smelled of 'the right' soap, the smells of home. Better yet, it smelled a bit like Oropher, like juniper berry and nutmeg, as if Thranduil's father had stayed by his side until after he fell asleep. His sore ankle was carefully wrapped, and hurt much less than it had earlier in the day. And he was still tired. The prince murmured quietly and curled a slender, pale arm around his eyes, intending to go back to sleep. He'd missed his bed. 

Then something poked his shoulder. Thranduil thought that he'd been dreaming that. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and hoped that whatever it was would go away. 

Poke.

Thranduil groaned, and waited. 

Poke....Thranduil caught the hand, and pulled. 

"Oof!" Fileg exhaled in surprise at finding himself sitting in Thranduil's lap. 

"When did you get home?" Thranduil said with mock irritation.

The Prince's cousin just grinned. Fileg was also one of Thranduil's closest friends, like a brother to the young prince, and he knew that Thranduil was actually delighted to see him. "Sooner than you did." He pointed out cheekily, before wrapping Thranduil up in a fierce hug. "Missed you, gwador-laes. We all did. Even Aiwen, once she was done being angry with you." 

Thranduil couldn't think of what to say at first, but Fileg didn't need him to. He was pretty good at reading Thranduil. Fileg nodded back at Thranduil with a fond smile, and then called out "Lin, he's awake!" 

Thranduil's sapphire eyes flew wide open. Fileg he could deal with, even half-asleep and not supposed to walk on his sprained ankle. Linwe, on the other hand....well, Thranduil's tartly worded letters hadn't all been directed at his father. Linwe wasn't Arda's greatest correspondent. His first missive had been pithy, but highly critical of Thranduil's actions. The term "bloody idiot" had come up more than once. Thranduil knew that he'd behaved foolishly by that point, but he didn't like being called on it. So, trusting in the safety of over a month's travel time between them, Thranduil had taken out some of his considerable irritation on Linwe. In fact, he had written a number of very rude, sassy statements that he would NEVER have said to Linwe's face, not unless he wanted a spanking on-the-spot from his eight-years older sworn brother. 

The Prince threw himself over the other side of his bed, just as his auborn-haired gwador came in through the door to his bedchamber. Fileg just laughed, and tossed a pillow in Thranduil's general direction. "I'll let you two work this out." He said, before leaving the room with a cheery whistle. 

"Why, hello, Thranduil." Linwe said, his jade green eyes tracking the prince as a cat might a wounded bird. Thranduil hobbled around the bed, keeping Linwe on the other side of the massive piece of furniture. 

To his great relief, Thranduil heard his father's voice on the other side of the door, exchanging greetings with Fileg and...Veassen? Yes, Veassen, Thranduil's other sworn-brother, who had also left him to Linwe's tender mercies. Thranduil would have to come up with something appropriately retaliatory to do to his gwedyr, at some point in the next month. But for now...

"Ada!" Thranduil cried out, "Ada, save me!" 

Oropher came into the room, and lifted an eyebrow at the sight of Thranduil hopping around one side of the bed while Linwe stalked him from the other. 

"What is this?" The King asked quietly, a smile tugging at he corners of his mouth. 

"Linwe's going to kill me!" Thranduil squawked, "You've got to save me!" 

Oropher looked like he was repressing the desire to laugh. "Linwe," he addressed the slightly older ellon sternly, "Why are you chasing Thranduil?" 

Linwe gave Oropher an aggrieved look. "He wrote me a letter. It was..." Linwe shook his head, as if unsure how to express the letter's contents. 

"Ah." Said Oropher, in perfect understanding. He looked to his pleading son, and shook his head with an amused but sympathetic smile. "You need to learn, ion-nin, that not everything you write will always be forgiven you, no matter what extenuating circumstances might be present." 

"But, Ada!" Thranduil protested. 

Oropher gave his son an affectionate glance, but did not intercede. "Linwe, make sure that you don't hurt his ankle." 

"Of course, Sir." Linwe promised, with his fond if slightly predatory smile for Thranduil. "I will make sure that I don't hurt his ankle. Its much easier to capture him when he's hobbled this way. Maybe that will teach my stubborn fool of a baby brother to be better about getting his hurts healed in the future." 

"We can always hope." Oropher murmured, with a loving but exasperated look for his offspring, as if he quite frankly doubted Thranduil's ability to learn how to take better care of himself. Then Oropher left the room. 

Thranduil's blue eyes met Linwe's green across the rumpled surface of Thranduil's covers. Thranduil wasn't really scared of his gwador - in fact, he was thrilled to see Linwe and had really missed him throughout the course of his year away - but he didn't particularly want to answer to Linwe for his ill-considered decisions and sharp tongue. Well, pen. 

"You're not at your best, Thrani, and you know it. Stop trying to get away, and I'll promise to say that you gave me a good chase." Linwe offered, an amused, wry smile tugging at his lips. In other words, Thranduil's older brother was going to spank him, either way, and might - well, probably would - go a bit easier on Thranduil if his baby brother just conceded gracefully. But it was not in Thranduil's nature to give up, so he threw a pillow at Linwe and tried to make a break for it. 

The next thing that Thranduil knew, strong arms were wrapped around his waist, and Linwe was slinging the prince back onto his bed. Thranduil yelped and tried to twist away, but Linwe held him fast with one arm, while using the other to lift up Thranduil's soft sleeping tunic and yank down his leggings. 

Thranduil renewed his struggles to get away as Linwe's hand started falling firmly on his bared bottom. "I might have missed you, Lin!" He objected, placing his good foot against the bed and trying to lift himself up, "But I did NOT miss your bullying big brother act!" 

"I'm not a bully, Thranduil." Linwe corrected calmly, without pausing the spanking, "And you know that you deserve this, so stop squirming." 

Thranduil groaned. "You're being mean, gwador!" He objected, considering the idea of pinching Linwe's leg and then thinking better of it, "I just got home!" 

"I know that, gwador-laes." Linwe said with more sympathy, although that didn't stop him from continuing to address Thranduil's backside with his hard hand "But you know better than to run away, let alone use being a soldier and that poor captain to do so." Linwe landed a particularly hard swat to the centre of Thranduil's bottom, "We would have been home in five more days -just five, gwador! Could you really not have waited that long before doing something stupid!" 

"Apparently not." Thranduil grumbled. A sharp swat to his sit-spot made him gasp. 

"And what of your rude letters to me, hmm, gwador-laes?" Linwe continued, "What did you think would happen when you got home?" 

Thranduil yelped again and threw his head up, his uncombed hair flying behind him. "I didn't know!" He wailed unhappily, as the tender undercurve of his bottom went from stinging to burning, "I didn't mean any of it, I was just mad!" 

"I know, Thrani." Linwe said with a quiet sigh. "I know that you didn't mean those things, but you still left. You went where we couldn't protect you, and you almost froze to death!" At that, Linwe's spanks increased in frequency and force, and Thranduil thumped a foot down on the bed in protest. 

"I'm sorry..." Thranduil sniffled, even though he'd probably do that last part again. The freezing part. An elfling had been lost in the fierce storm, and he'd had a responsibility as a soldier to help her. If he could figure out a way to do that without risking four other ellyn along with himself, well, than he would, but he was a soldier. Almost freezing to death, under the circumstances, had been his job. 

With a last hard swat to the center of Thranduil's bottom, Linwe ended the spanking, and quickly pulled his baby brother up onto his lap. Thranduil didn't like getting spanked, but he reluctantly recognized, at least to himself, that he'd deserved that one, for running away from his friends as well as his family, and for writing some pretty shocking things to Linwe. He'd really missed Lin- not so much his older gwador's smacking him when Thranduil stepped out of line, but his counsel and his company. As enemies went, Laingened hadn't been so bad, and neither had Renham, but if Linwe had been there, Thranduil wouldn't have been alone. Thranduil butted the top of his head up against Linwe's chin. Linwe chuckled lightly and obliged the unspoken request, cuddling the heir to the throne closer. 

"I did miss you, even if you're a bully." Thranduil said with sleepy insolence. 

Linwe tapped his hand gently against Thranduil's spanked bottom, causing Thranduil to squirm in indignant protest. "I missed you too, my bratling baby brother." Linwe murmured. "I nearly left the army to come and join you." 

"Silly Lin." Thranduil scolded. "Meordanas wasn't that bad." 

"Well, surely not for you." Linwe shot back, "But I'm sure that Meordanas itself barely survived trial-by-Thranduil." 

"Haha." Thranduil replied, pushing Linwe lightly aside to kneel on his bed and scrutinize his dark pink bottom in the mirror on the opposite wall. "Jerk." Thranduil observed, pulling up his dark green leggings. 

"Brat." Linwe snipped back, his jade green eyes regarding Thranduil fondly. 

A knock sounded at the door. Thranduil turned around, collapsing back on the bed against Linwe, but on his side so as to spare his bottom contact with even the soft surface of the bed. "You might as well come in, Fileg, Vea!" He called, trying not to sulk, "Despite how useless you were to me, just now." 

Fileg just shook his head at Thranduil as he climbed onto the bed, next to Linwe. Veassen regarded Thranduil levelly for a moment, his nut-brown gaze fond and full of sympathy. Then he gave Thranduil a tight hug, pressing his forehead gently to the Prince's. "Frankly, Thrani, you did deserve that. But I'm so glad to have you home."

"I'm glad to be home." Thranduil said with a yawn, feeling comfortable and sleepy again despite his sore bottom. 

Fileg reached over Linwe to poke him again, this time under the arm. Thranduil swatted at him, catching one of Fileg's warrior braids and tugging. "Stop that!" Thranduil ordered sleepily. 

"No." Fileg stubbornly refused, "If you fall asleep again before eating dinner, Ivoniel and your Adar will get mad and they'll blame us." 

"Good." Thranduil said, snuggling back down against Linwe's shoulder. "It's your fault anyway." 

Linwe huffed and picked him up, but this time just to carry him over to a chair by the fire. Fileg put down several cushions and Linwe carefully settled Thranduil on top of them. "I'd say that we should let you eat lying on your stomach in bed." Veassen said thoughtfully, "But I think that you'd just fall back asleep." 

Thranduil sneered at them, but that was probably true. They coaxed him into eating a light dinner - which wasn't hard once Thranduil tasted the first thing on his plate. He'd really missed his Ivy's cooking. He missed her, too, but he was too tired to go and manage any more emotional greetings tonight. Linwe, Veassen, and Fileg fell asleep with him, although by the time he woke up in the morning all of them except Fileg had departed. And there was a folded letter on his bed-side table, with Oropher's handwriting on it. Thranduil carefully reached over the sleeping Fileg to pick it up, and smiled at the contents. 

Over the next month, Thranduil spent a lot of time with his father. Oropher still had councils and affairs of state to deal with, but Thranduil's uncle was back, which made all of that a little easier. They had time to talk about every single thing that had bothered Thranduil during the year that he'd been away, every thing that he'd wanted to ask Oropher's opinion of but hadn't been able to let himself. Thranduil was almost grateful for Meordanas, and the mistakes he'd made in going there, because in the end it brought him and his father closer together. 

And just two days before Yule, he got one of the most wonderful surprises ever, when his mother arrived home in time for the holiday. 

"Galadriel and I were tiring of one another's company." Felith told Thranduil, as they sat together admiring the large, decorated tree. Thranduil supposed that was probably the understatement of the year. His mother and Lady Galadriel tended to rub one another the wrong way just by breathing. 

"How long does it take to learn bread-making, and all of that other stuff, anyway?" He asked. 

Felith smiled tiredly at him. "Enough of me. I want to hear about you, ion-nin." And they talked for hours, that night and many others. 

Thranduil managed to spend a great deal of time with his gwedyr and his cousins, as well. The night before Yule, he told Aiwen and Fileg how their gift had saved his life, that night in the forest when the orc arrow had struck the mithril brooch and just bounced off. They hugged him while his parents looked on with love and approval (well, and his father, who knew the story, with a bit of worry). Thranduil just basked in the affection of his family, which he felt that he'd never truly appreciated, before. It was a such a contrast from the last Yule that he'd spent with Adan, Merendes, and Finn, when he was feeling uncomfortable, out of place, and so, so homesick. Still, he was grateful to them for extending the warmth and kindness of their home and company, so he got them all small gifts to take back to Meordanas when he went. 

"You shouldn't go back." Veassen urged him, "A year was long enough, gwador. You're all the way back home now. It's not favoritism if General Rochendil reassigns you, instead of spending the coin to send you all the way back instead of some other soldier. He might do that for anybody." 

"A posting is for three years, normally, Vea." Thranduil countered. "I can go back there, knowing that I can come back here. And I can write nice letters." Thranduil added, with a careful look at Linwe. 

Thranduil didn't end up having to worry about writing Linwe letters, which was probably a good thing since neither of them were particularly good correspondents. Instead, Linwe was reassigned to Meordanas along with Thranduil. Thranduil was a lot less lonely with his older gwador there. Linwe got on fine in Meordanas, he was a good soldier and less challenging, in many ways, than Thranduil. Captain Forothon came to have a lot of respect for Linwe, and the feeling was mutual. During that next year, Thranduil and Linwe also had many visitors, including Linwe's brother Calithil. Which would be important later, but that's a different story. 

Linwe and Sergeant Renham clashed a little, at least until Linwe realized that many of Thranduil's problems with Renham had to do with Thranduil purposely irritating the sergeant. Young Finn learned not to cry when Renham bellowed at him, which, along with Linwe's presence, decreased the animosity between Thranduil and the sergeant. 

At first, Linwe seemed almost a bit jealous of Adan, even though Adan liked Linwe, as Adan liked almost everyone. He was just that kind of elf. Thranduil also thought that Adan might have liked Linwe because Linwe kept Thranduil out of trouble so that Adan didn't have to. Adan's wife Merendes loved the book of dress designs Thranduil had brought her from the capitol, a gift selected by Aiwen. 

When Thranduil and Linwe left Meordanas after two more years there, Oropher and Thranduil's other gwedyr met them at the great caves of Northern Greenwood. Thranduil was able to explore the tremendous caverns with a local guide and his father and his dearest friends. Sitting in the cool shelter of the caves and listening to the river run through them, Oropher actually began to doodle some designs for making the place into a northern center of government. Hundreds of years later, when Thranduil actually needed to do that, he incorporated some of Oropher's ideas. It made him feel like his father was with him, even though Oropher had long since fallen in battle. In the middle of the Third Age, the Great Caves of the North became the King's Hall, or the Hall of the Elven King, and many famous events happened there. Notable amongst them were the birth of Thranduil's four blood children, the temporary incarceration of certain dwarves, and the escape of the creature Gollum. 

Captain Forothon's son Gwaelar died in the first months of the War of the Last Alliance, at the end of the Second Age. Thranduil wrote the condolence letter to Forothon himself, even though it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Linwe kept him company, after. 

Adan actually learned that Thranduil was THAT Thranduil, the Crown Prince Thranduil, when Thranduil visited Meordanas at Adan's invitation around the time that Thranduil was five hundred years old, after the birth of Adan and Merendes' first child. Adan died in a nasty battle in the middle of the War of the Last Alliance. Six months later, Thranduil heard Adan's soft, distinctive Nandorin accent, a sound that he'd never expected to hear again, from a young Greenwood healer digging a ditch with him. Theli - Ecthelion Erynion- was the grandson of the Witch of the Northern Wood. Theli later used that connection to make that powerful elf save the life of Thranduil's injured foster-son, when wandering orcs led the King's party into the Witch's corner of the Wood, during the first years of the Shadow in the Third Age. Thranduil still found himself with no fondness for the powerful 'witch' Eldun, but he'd valued Adan and later Theli quite highly. 

And Captain Forothon, as well. That old elf had little patience for Lords or ceremony, but he still let Thranduil ennoble him during the difficult years of the Third Age. He became one of Thranduil's most trusted leaders in the north of the wood, and often played the role of regent in the Northern Hall, before it became Thranduil's only residence. And he helped Thranduil, Rochendil, and Herdir - and Theli - to figure out how to use the corner of the Wood protected by the Witch Eldun, in order to strengthen the Wood's defenses. If Eldun was irritated that Thranduil had done that, he never appeared in person to register a complaint, or harmed Thranduil's patrols. Thranduil kept Theli away, though, since Eldun had pledged to kill his grandson if the elf ever returned to his home. The King was pretty sure that Eldun wouldn't, but he did not take chances with his friends, if he could help it. With himself, perhaps, but not with his friends. But Thranduil did use them to help him hold the Wood. He had no choice. The Greenwood was their home, and they held onto it. They protected it as best they could, even as the Necromancer's influence turned the ground into poison and the trees into twisted, evil versions of themselves, and people came to call their home the Mirkwood. Led by Thranduil, who did not like to give up, his elves held the Wood. Against all odds, they held out until Thranduil's youngest son helped to end the struggle that Thranduil had fought for most of his life. But that, too, is another story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear if you liked the story. It was written as part of a Yule Fic exchange on: 
> 
> http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LOTR_DFIC/
> 
> New members are welcomed. 
> 
> Also, as stated above, most of the elven OCs in my Greenwood stories belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee (Arafinwiel), and appear in their Greenwood stories, which they have started to post on AO3 here: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743
> 
> Emma and Kaylee's other stories are posted on the yahoo group.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear if you liked the story. It was written as part of a Yule Fic exchange on: 
> 
> http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LOTR_DFIC/
> 
> New members are welcomed. 
> 
> Also, as stated above, most of the elven OCs in my Greenwood stories belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee (Arafinwiel), and appear in their Greenwood stories, which they have started to post on AO3 here: 
> 
> Emma and Kaylee's other stories are posted on the yahoo group.


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